Call of the Mockingbird
by impoeia
Summary: Gaftikar. The planet was supposed to be securely in the hands of the Republic. But when people begin to die and hostilities threaten to break out between the Humans and Marits, Jedi investigator Ro Arhen must team up with the cynical former ARC Wren and an inexperienced clone commander to stop the bloodshed. Is this another Separatist plot or does a monster haunt the planet?
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **The events of the battle of Gaftikar can be found in _True Colors_, a Republic Commando novel by Karen Traviss. Star Wars and everything affiliated with it belongs to the eminent Mr. Lucas. I only stake a humble claim on my OCs, living in a world created by greater imaginations than mine.

* * *

**Prologue: So It Begins Again**

"_Apart from the mining corporation's interests, it was just another handy place for a fight." _

_- _Republic Commando: True Colors_ by Karen Traviss_

* * *

_Outskirts of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (16 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Wren figured that having a night patrol on Gaftikar was probably one of the most redundant duties this side of the Rishi Maze. A month had passed since the Republic had secured the planet from a Separatist invasion and since then, neither side had shown any particular interest in the place. The Republic had established a small garrison near the capital, Eyat – the city itself was too small to house a facility big enough – but that was mostly a token effort, like sticking a sign into your front lawn, warning passersby about the akk that was really nothing more than a Kobarian swamp dog.

Gaftikar was, after all, of no particular strategic value in the Outer Rim territories. Its one point of interest were its norax and kelerium deposits, both ores useful for industrial purposes, but hardly vital to the war effort. The only one truly interested in the planet was Shenio Mining and once the fighting had stopped the mining corporation had moved in and made itself cozy. Much to the displeasure of many of the locals.

_And that's why I have to be out here, slugging through this effing mud. _No, the locals hadn't been happy about Shenio. If they weren't yammering on about the destruction of the natural landscape, they were complaining about not getting a big enough cut of the final proceeds. There had been some minor incidents, a few cases of vandalism of Shenio mining equipment, a couple of brawls between disgruntled citizens and the local police force and an increasing number of protest rallies. Shenio had ticked off quite a few people, but then, these days, that wasn't very hard to do. The locals got their damned silk panties in a twist over just about everything now. Simply put, the Human settlers wanted the Marits offworld, the Marits refused to give up any of the power they considered their due right, Shenio was acting like they owned the place and _no one _wanted the clones dirtside. Wren would have been more than happy to comply - he hated being here - but it was out of his hands. Another thing he fekkin' well hated about this kriffed up assignment.

Hostilities were on the rise, but Wren didn't think it would escalate into much. The Gaftikari, the Human ones anyway, had proven in the battle of Gaftikar that they didn't have the stones or the stomach for a real confrontation. If they did, they would have put up more of a resistance when Republic forces had landed on the planet. No, the whiners would continue to mutter and moan, but wouldn't stray too far from the path of 'civilized beings'. Hiding behind thick, safe walls was more their style. Personally, Wren thought the locals would be better off spending their energies on cleaning up the city, but in the long run, he didn't really care. Let them live in ruins if that's what they wanted. All he wanted was to get this patrol over with and get back to base.

"Sergeant Wren, this is Beta Squad calling in. All clear in sector 32."

"Copy that Beta Squad. Continue to the RV point," Wren answered, then closed the channel with a couple of swift blinks. He had to admit, the sound system in the new Phase II armor was quite an improvement over the old one. He'd noticed during the fight for Eyat that the annoying whine the audio filters picked up when one stood too close to the heavy artillery was gone. It was one of the first things the long necks had actually managed to get right. Opening another channel, Wren called out to the next squad.

"Sigma Squad, report. You're a minute and a half overdue."

"Sergeant Wren, this is Sigma Squad. Had to intervene in a fight between some locals. Sector 40 is now clear."

"Next time, have someone call in a sitrep immediately. If you're out in the battlefield, missing an appointed call-in usually means you're dead."

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir. It won't happen again, sir. Sigma Squad out."

Wren closed the channel and gave a frustrated sigh. Rookies. He was surrounded by rookies with no more sense in them then what had been flash trained into their heads by the Kaminoans. And it was his job to show them the ropes. _Fan-kriffing-tastic._ If Wren had ever needed proof of the galaxy's twisted sense of humor, then he was standing ankle deep in it.

He stopped for a moment, rotating his head and neck, feeling his spine give a satisfactory _crack. _It had been a long night and he couldn't wait to get back to the base. A few hours sleep, a quick shower and meal and he would have a few hours of unoccupied time for himself. And then…Well, Eyat may not have much, but it did have a few nice cantinas and bars. And those cantinas and bars actually had a few more-than-attractive females who had proven very appreciative of his particular _skill set. _

Wren heard the squelching of boots through mud next to him and turned his head to see Notch making his way towards him, blaster held at the ready as he swept the landscape. The shiny was trying to be stealthy, though with the glaring white armor it was a lost cause.

Wren clicked his teeth in frustration, then comm'd the other trooper over the squad's private channel. "Notch fall back, you're at least half a klick too far up from your assigned position."

Notch's head jerked up, then turned towards his sergeant. "Sorry, Sergeant." The trooper replied demurely. "Tried to round one of the mudflats. Guess I overshot the mark."

Wren couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his answer, nor did he try particularly hard. "You guessed right, trooper. Too bad you didn't notice before you compromised the squad's formation. You've left a huge hole in our defenses now, so I suggest that next time you just walk through the mud. It beats being dead." He looked the trooper up and down carefully before adding, "On second thought, next time, just roll in it. You'd be less of a walking target afterwards."

Wren heard the quick intake of breath from Notch, before the trooper cut the comm connection and he returned to his position, a definite hurt sulkiness in his steps. Technically it was a breach in regulations to sign off before the ranking trooper gave permission, but Wren wouldn't reprimand Notch. Hell, he certainly wasn't a by-the-regs kinda guy, so why bother. As long as Notch remembered those rules that actually would keep him alive on the battlefield, Wren didn't care. There certainly weren't enough of them for Notch to forget.

Wren watched Notch trudge back to his assigned position, then checked the placement of each of his squad in his HUD. He had ordered the squad into a simple V pattern, with himself taking point. Bar Notch, they were all where they were supposed to be.

Wren monitored his squad, as well as the progress of the others, while keeping a close eye on the surrounding terrain. His squad was sweeping the perimeter directly outside of Eyat's walls, while the rest of the watch were inside, clearing the city sector by sector. The place might be secure as far as the Republic went, but that didn't excuse sloppiness. Wren hadn't made it this far through the war by letting his guard down. Though he really was starting to dislike the mud.

Glancing down at his own boots briefly, Wren grimaced in distaste behind his bucket. It had been raining for the past two days and most of the ground outside of Eyat was a kriffing mud bath. He hated mud. Had hated it ever since Jabiim. Bad things tended to happen when there was mud around and it made him tense. He still thought that housing a garrison on Gaftikar was overkill, even if it was a garrison full of shinies, but there was something about tonight that was putting him on edge. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

His squad completed the circuit around the town without further incident and Wren called up the other six squads over his HUD's comlink. "All squads report back to base. Perimeter is clear. I repeat, perimeter is clear."

There was a short burst of chatter in his bucket, mostly confirmations of his orders, then silence. Wren blinked and brought up a map of Eyat on his HUD. The map was divided into grids and showed the position of each squad. Doing some quick mental calculations, he figured this whole thing would be over in less than four minutes. _And then it's the day shifts problem._

He opened another comm channel, this one to the duty officer back at the base. "Eyat Command, this is CT-20-4371 from night watch, calling in. Perimeter sweep is clear. ETA six minutes and counting. Over."

"Night watch, this is Eyat Command. Copy that. All clear and ETA six minutes and counting. Over and out."

Wren broke the connection and looked around again, his infrared sweeping the ground around him. He could see two squads coming towards him from Eyat. Sigma and Theta Squad, since they were the closest to the RV point. He suddenly cocked his head to the side, listening.

Noticing the action, one of his squad, Fince, looked over at him. "Something the matter, Sergeant?"

"Listen," Wren told them.

They did, each trooper peering into the darkness as they copied his movement. "I don't hear anything," Notch finally said.

"Exactly," Wren hissed and turned back towards the town and the arriving squads. He opened another channel, this time to all the squads. "Night watch, this is Sergeant Wren, we got…"

He didn't get any further. The unnatural silence that had so disturbed him a moment before was suddenly violently shattered by the unmistakable roar of an explosion. Wren ducked instinctively, crouching low to the ground and raising his blaster in the direction of the blast. His squad did the same, while those who had been making their way out of Eyat dropped to the ground in a reflexive move of self-preservation from the enemy fire at their backs.

There was a plume of smoke rising towards the horizon and the distinctive orange glow of something burning. The explosion had come from northwest of their position, far at the back of the city. Wren checked his mental map of the layout of Eyat and found the explosion must have taken place in one of the loading areas occupied by Shenio Mining.

Reestablishing a comm channel with the garrison, Wren reported in. "Eyat Command, we have a situation in sector 54."

"Night watch, what kind of situation?"

Wren rolled his eyes even as a series of minor explosions echoed through the night. It seemed the fire had reached some of the heavy mining machinery Shenio had stored there.

"Eyat Command, I'd suggest taking a look out of the kriffing window."

* * *

**Author's Note:** So here's the promised preview of the second installment in the _Mockingbird _series. Regular postings will begin May 13th and will continue every Monday and Friday. By that time, I'll have shot Darth Real Life in the gluteus maximus.


	2. Chapter 1: Vital Communications

**Vital Communications**

"_Don't let your fear of being judged stop you from asking for help when you need it." _

_- Anonymous_

* * *

_Communications center, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY __(22 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

When he had first been told that he would be stationed on and given command over a small base on Gaftikar, Clone Commander Gaff would admit to feeling a momentary sense of disappointment. He had been ranked among the top three of his graduating class and F Company had been one of the most highly decorated companies coming out of Tipoca. Even with almost five months shaved off of their training, Commander Gaff had felt certain that he and his company would be assigned immediately to the battlefield. After all, the urgent need for more troopers was hardly a secret. So to be told by his trainer that he and F Company were overseeing planetary security for a newly captured Republic world had been...a let down.

On the way to telling his men their destination, reason had, of course, asserted itself. Rationally, it was a sound strategy, giving a new company the chance to adjust to the galaxy outside of Tipoca. Gaff had heard some of the clone trainers - experienced troopers returned from the battlefield to help train the next generation - talk about how different, how _chaotic _the outside world was. So yes, giving new troopers the chance to acclimate themselves, to gain experience in a more controlled environment made sense. And that was how he had presented the orders to his company.

And the more he had reflected on it, the more Gaff had come to believe that it was a good assignment, if not an exciting or prestigious one. What did prestige and excitement matter any ways. They had been given their orders and it was now up to him and F Company to fulfil these orders to the best of their abilities.

And though he put no stock in such things, Gaff had had to admit that there was something about the planet's name, Gaftikar, that had, at first glance, boded well for him. _Gaff. Gaftikar. _If there were such things as good omens, then perhaps this would be one of them.

Of course, those hopes had been shot down almost as soon as he and F Company had landed on the planet. Part of the Republic Gaftikar might be, but that sure didn't mean the locals were happy about it. And they seemed determined to let it out on the clones. And then there was the bomber and now this.

If there was ever a time for an alert to sound, Commander Gaff truly wished it could be now. Standing in front of the holotransmitter in the garrison's communications center, waiting for the transmission to Coruscant to get through, Gaff had to remind himself not to shift from foot to foot like an impatient and nervous cadet. It was undignified and unbecoming of a superior officer. But he was dreadfully nervous, with his stomach clenching uncomfortably in anticipation of the coming interview. Behind and to the left of him stood Sergeant Wren, arms crossed over his chest, chin resting lightly on his armored chest. If the sergeant was nervous about reporting their findings to the Jedi Council, then he gave no outward sign of it. Gaff was almost envious.

"Transmission going through, sir. We have acknowledgement from the Temple." The trooper on duty at the transmitter console turned towards him in his chair, one hand raised to his headset.

"Acknowledged, Corporal. Patch them through." Gaff was pleased that his voice came out sounding professional and sure. He just hoped that it would stay that way throughout his conversation with the Jedi. Gaftikar was his first real command and he did not want to make a fool of himself on his first assignment outside of Kamino. And that went doubly so for his first live communication with the Jedi. Gaff had been handed over command of the base by Captain Pellaeon and Commander Levet of the 35th, without ever meeting the Jedi who had been in charge of the Battle of Gaftikar and so far, all of his reports had been sent via a secured comm channel to GAR HQ and the Temple. This was the first time he would be face to face with a Jedi in any way.

The holotransmitter lit up and the life-sized images of the High Generals Yoda and Mace Windu appeared before him. It figured, of course, that his first meeting with Jedi officer would be with the two highest ranking generals. He really, really wished he didn't have to give this report.

General Windu leaned slightly towards the transmitter, and towards the commander, his face stern. "Commander, what progress have you made in your investigations?" The general, apparently, did not believe in wasting time with idle pleasantries.

_That alarm would really come in handy, right about now, _Gaff thought, swallowing. But he kept his back straight, body in perfect parade-rest and gave both High Generals a crisp salute before answering.

"Since the initial attack twenty-two days ago, two other structures in and around Eyat have been bombed. The second was a storage unit, used by a local agricultural company to house grains and the like. The third," and here he hesitated slightly, "last night, was at a communal records office in the government block. There were two casualties, sirs. Two Marits completing some repairs left over from the battle. As their presence was a last minute decision, we can assume that the bomber would not have known that they would be there at the time of the explosion."

General Windu's heavy brows lowered even furthered, as he regarded Gaff through the holo. Though the man was seated in a low, oval chair, he nevertheless gave off the impression of towering height. Gaff wondered if that was a result of his authority, or a byproduct of this mysterious Force.

"We have read as much from your reports, Commander. It does not, however, answer my question." There was nothing but cool durasteel in the general's voice.

Gaff swallowed nervously again, sure the sound was audible all the way to Coruscant. Quickly, he searched his mind for the relevant passages, trying to skip ahead in the report he had memorized prior to this meeting.

"Yes, sir. We have continued to question possible witnesses, as well as increasing the nightly patrols. The perpetrator appears to prefer setting off the bombs in the very early morning hours, when there are few civilians present. He also seems to have a set pattern. All of the attacks have been seven days apart, so we know we have another six days until we can expect the next bomb to go off. The civilians have also become aware of this and are keeping close to their residences come nightfall. That is also one of the reasons why the casualty count has been this low so far. In that, the bomber is making it easy for us."

"So it is not a high body count this bomber is after, but the destruction of property." General Windu looked off to the side for a moment, his expression pensive. "But why attack such unimportant locations? A warehouse for mining equipment, a storage unit for edibles, a records office; what do these targets have in common?" The Jedi General's voice was low, asking these question more of himself than of the commander. Then, abruptly, the general's sharp eyes were on Gaff again, his expression no longer far away and thoughtful, but sharp and piercing.

"What about local law enforcement? Have they been included in these investigations?"

"Yes, sir. They have."

This time, it was High General Yoda who made Gaff the object of his inscrutable gaze.

"And?" the diminutive Jedi asked.

Gaff took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from wincing. "The local authorities are rather…ahm….reluctant to work with us, Generals."

There was the sound of a derisive snort from behind him and Gaff fought the urge to turn around and reprimand the sergeant. But that would have been inappropriate to the situation and luckily, it seemed that neither of the two generals had heard.

"Reluctant, you say?" General Yoda asked, his long ears twitching slightly. Gaff had no idea what that could mean. "Reluctant how, Commander?"

Gaff cleared his throat, and felt the slightest of heat creep into his cheeks. He really wished protocol didn't demand of him to take off his helmet during debriefings with superior officers. "Well, sirs. For one, they say they are willing to cooperate, by helping us bring in witnesses or joining surveillance teams, but then they never show up, or are late. They claim to misunderstand instructions or to have lost vital communiqués." The commander grimaced. Voicing his problems with the local police out loud, and doing so in front of the two most senior and highest ranking generals in the entire GAR, made them seem so ridiculously petty. Worse still, he felt that it reflected badly on his ability and his command. How could he be trusted to lead men in an actual combat situation, when he could not even manage to impress a bunch of civilians with his authority?

General Windu sighed. "I see Commander. In other words, the Gaftikari are still resentful of the Republic and the GAR."

"Well, sir, it's actually only the Human settlers that are giving us problems. The Marits are still willing to cooperate with us."

High General Yoda let out a thoughtful "hmm", his eyes closing briefly, before focusing his attention once more on Gaff.

"And the bomb? New information you have?"

"We are still in the process of recreating the latest bombing site, but we do know that the main substance used was detonite. Whoever is doing this, is obviously no amateur. He knows enough about bombs to make sure that most of it is destroyed in the initial explosion. Whoever the Separatists hired for this, has considerable skills."

Both generals suddenly fixed him with penetrating stares and equal frowns. Being the subject of such scrutiny actually made Gaff lean away slightly from the holotransmitter, in an instinctive need for self-preservation. He regretted it almost immediately when he heard a low laugh coming from behind him. His sergeant was, apparently, quite enjoying himself.

"You believe this to be the work of Separatists?" Mace Windu asked.

For a moment Gaff was honestly confused. "Who else would it be, sir?"

General Yoda leaned forward slightly on his seat, his clawed hands resting loosely on his knees. "Indeed," he said. "Who else?"

The two Jedi exchanged meaningful, but tired looks, engaged in some form of quiet communication that utterly excluded Gaff. General Windu was the first one to turn his attention back to the young commander.

"What is your strategy, Commander, in the continuation of your investigation?"

"My…strategy, sir?" Gaff asked. Hadn't he already explained that? Surveillance and the questioning of witnesses were his strategy. What else was there for him to do?

Gaff was about to open his mouth to restate his previous words, when he heard an annoyed sigh come from the sergeant behind him. Before he could intervene, Sergeant Wren stepped into the holotransmitter's range.

"With all due respect, sirs," he drawled. "There's not much of a strategy for us to follow."

Gaff closed his eyes and silently counted down from ten until the urge to strangle his sergeant had passed. The man had been an absolute pain since he had been assigned as F Company's designated 'experienced' trooper. Always walking that fine line between insolence and downright insubordination, Sergeant Wren had the habit of rubbing everyone the wrong way and enjoying it. Right now was no exception. Not only was the sergeant addressing Generals Windu and Yoda with the barest modicum of respect and propriety, he was also basically humiliating his commanding officer in the process.

"The fact is," Wren continued, his arms still crossed over his chest, not having bothered with a salute, "no one here has the proper training for this kind of investigation. The locals won't have anything to do with us, not unless we force them at blaster point. Not exactly subtle," he said, the right side of his mouth stretching into a bare, half-smile, which the scar at the corner of his mouth twisted into a sarcastic sneer. "And that's what we need. Someone who can be subtle. We show up, all pretty in white and people tend to walk in the other direction. Or come at us with knives."

Sergeant Wren tilted his head lightly to the side, the lights of the communications centre reflecting off of the very short stubble of hair on his head. "We could use a Jedi, if you happen to have one to spare. Sirs," he added, as an afterthought and making no attempt to hide the fact.

Gaff wanted to sink into the ground. How this must look to the generals. Like he couldn't control his own command. And really, he couldn't. Not when it came to Sergeant Wren at least. The man had this aggravating habit of completely ignoring an order, but somehow still getting the job done. What was worst, his assessment of the situation wasn't wrong. Gaff had also come to the conclusion that he and his men were simply not trained for this kind of operation. They were an infantry unit and this was an investigation best left to ARCs or Jedi. He had hoped of putting in a request for assistance himself, but had wanted to frame it more…professionally. Wren made it sound like F Company and its commander were nothing more than…well, than a batch of shinies.

General Windu steepled his fingers in front of his face, casting his dark gaze first at Wren, who remained completely unperturbed and then at Gaff, who tried not to flinch.

General Yoda too was scrutinizing the two clones and a silence was settling over the communications centre that had even the corporal on duty squirming uncomfortably in his chair.

Finally, General Yoda broke the silence. "See what we can do, we will. Contact you, when a Jedi is found, we shall."

And with that, the communication was broken off, the holotransmitter going dark. Gaff thankfully closed his eyes, but kept a sigh of relief firmly locked behind his teeth. _Professional, _he thought. _Keep it professional. You are the commander. You can't let your men see you as anything but in control._

"Well that was effing helpful," was the sergeant's sarcastic rejoinder. ""See what we can do", my armored backside." And with that, the sergeant stalked out of the communications centre.

Gaff's fist clenched, but he remained outwardly calm otherwise. He turned back to the on-duty shift, seeing that all five of the troopers were staring after Wren with jaws slightly agape.

Gaff squared his shoulders and looked down his nose at them, imitating one of his former training sergeants. "Gentlemen, I do believe your job is to monitor those sensors. Eyes _front_." It seemed to work and Gaff was pleased to see all five of them straighten in their seats and give him simultaneous salutes, before turning back to their duty stations. Well, at least they knew how to behave with the proper respect and decorum worthy of a clone trooper. _They're good men, _he thought, watching them briefly. _Now, if only _all _of the men under my command were like that. _

Thoughts of his sergeant made Gaff scowl darkly and the next words he addressed to the officer in charge of monitoring all incoming communications were sharper than he had intended.

"I want to be contacted immediately as soon as we receive a signal from Triple Zero. No delay, no matter what. Am I understood?"

The trooper, Teller, gave him a sharp nod. "Sir, yes, sir."

"Good. Let me know as soon as the patrols have called in." And with that, he left the communications centre as well, intent on finding his errant sergeant and setting the man straight on a few things. Like proper protocol when speaking to high-ranking Jedi officers.

* * *

Wren was already down the hall and making his way towards the barracks he was bunking in, when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know they belonged to Commander Gaff. The noob commander was the only person Wren had ever known who could sound huffy when walking.

_I was wondering when he'd come storming after me, _he thought, already mildly amused by the coming confrontation. While the two of them had been forced to work together for a little over two months now, the commander still managed to be somewhat entertaining from time to time. So Wren stopped walking and turned towards the sound of the footsteps, idly studying the grey durasteel ceiling, counting the rivets of each plating.

When Gaff came around the last bend, he nearly walked into Wren. Wren slanted his eyes so as to better watch the spectacle his commanding officer was making of himself, as he came to a screeching halt and tried to keep his balance from the sudden deceleration of his forward momentum without actually pinwheeling his arms or reaching out to steady himself against Wren.

Gaff managed to keep his balance, while still holding on to some shreds of his rank's dignity. Just as the commander was opening his mouth to speak, Wren cut him off.

"Commander," and Wren practically purred the title, "I'm surprised at you. You're late. I was expecting my chewing out two minutes and…" he trailed off in thought, eyes going to the ceiling once more, "eighteen seconds ago." The trick was, to always keep your opponent unbalanced, mentally as well as physically.

Gaff blinked at him, opened his mouth, closed it again, then caught himself before looking up at the spot of ceiling Wren was staring at. _Ah, shinies. They make it almost too easy. _

Finally realizing that Wren was, as usually, baiting him, Gaff straightened up and put on what Wren thought of as his 'command face'. Wren was certain it was meant to look both dignified and assertive and likely worked quite well on most of the regular troopers. The shinies certainly scurried fast enough when they saw it. But Wren was not a regular trooper strictly speaking and he hadn't been a shiny since before leaving Kamino.

"Sergeant," the Commander said, voice stern. "Your behavior back in the communications centre was utterly inappropriate in both context and form."

"Context and form," Wren murmured, closing his eyes briefly. "Really?" Then his eyes snapped open and he was suddenly right in Gaff's face, invading the man's personal space and ignoring all proper forms of protocol between an NCO and a CO.

"Please enlighten me, Commander. What part of my context and form was inappropriate? When I pointed out to the Jedi that they're expecting a huddle of troopers, so wet behind the ears I can still smell the ocean brine on them, to execute what is clearly a delicate investigation? When I made it clear that we are dealing with an karking uncooperative, if not downright hostile civilian population? Or when I accurately deduced that we never actually got a kriffing straight answer on our request for support?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared the commander straight in the eyes. "Go ahead, Commander. I am eager to learn the error of my ways." A deaf and brain damaged Kowakian monkey-lizard couldn't have missed the sarcasm in his voice.

Gaff's jaw clenched so tight, Wren was certain he could hear the tendons creak and the other clone's face flushed a pleasing shade of red. Wren felt the satisfaction of victory course through him. Gaff might be able to assign him extra punishment details, but he would never be able to deny the truth of Wren's words.

"Your _tone, _Sergeant," Gaff ground out, "was badly lacking in proper respect when addressing two senior members of the rank and office held by both General Yoda and General Windu. You have to realize that your actions reflect on the entire company."

Wren gave a scoffing laugh at this. "I can assure you, Commander, the Jedi might be offended by my _tone, _but they are hardly in a position to punish an entire company because of my actions. In case you haven't noticed, the war isn't going too well. The Jedi and the Senate need all the cannon fodder they can throw at the Separatists."

Gaff inhaled sharply at this and Wren saw his eyes quickly flicker around the corridor. Wren knew that reaction very well. He'd seen it countless times on Kamino, when anxious troopers made sure that there were no Kaminoan overseers about to hear what could be deemed a 'subversive conversation'.

At times like these, Wren could almost feel sorry for the poor bleater. Almost. But he had to hand it to Gaff, the shiny commander was so focused on doing a good job on his first assignment, he managed to recover from a life-long habit relatively quickly.

"I will not stand for such talk on my base, Sergeant. What you are saying can be classified as slander and is counterproductive for the morale of this unit."

Now Wren just had to smile. Gaff really was begging for it. "If it's morale you're worried about, sir," he said, "I have a few suggestions that might help."

Gaff's eyes narrowed suspiciously and Wren could practically hear the gears turning beneath that regulation haircut of his. But he was too wrapped up in his role of CO to deduce the nature of the trap.

"Yes?" he asked, warily.

Wren winked at him. "Give 'em a few creds of pocket money and let boys be boys. I know a few ladies who would be more than willing to do their bit for the war effort."

Gaff jerked back before his lips compressed into a tight line. "That, trooper," he ground out, "is it. You are hereby confined to your quarters until further notice."

"You can't do that, Commander." Wren drawled.

Gaff blinked at him, baffled, momentarily forgetting his rank and reduced to the state of the bewildered shiny that he was. "What?"

"My mission mandate, Commander," Wren explained, enjoying every second of this, "is to train and prepare members of F Company, until such a time when a Jedi is available to formally take over command. I am to pass on my experiences so as to make up for the five months you and your troopers were shorted on, on Kamino. Those orders," and Wren gave the furious young commander a razor thin smile, "came from GAR HQ on Coruscant and supersedes your authority. You can't confine me to my quarters, Commander, because that would interfere with my mission."

Wren leaned back slightly to watch the effects his words were bound to have. Gaff was young, almost comically so, and he had yet to learn either the limits of command or the ways of 'creative interpretation' when it came to orders. Wren was a master in both areas and quite a few others.

For a moment, the young commander merely stood there, one fist clenched at his side, while the other gripped the edge of the bucket clipped to his belt. Wren wondered if Gaff was about to burst a blood vessel.

But the commander managed to reign in his temper. He compressed his lips so tightly they went white and briefly looked to the side, away from Wren's amused expression and mocking eyes. When he had himself back under control, Gaff met Wren's gaze evenly.

"I understand, Sergeant. Nevertheless, your behavior during the debriefing with the generals, as well as your lack of respect towards your commanding officer are two things not covered by your mission mandate. I thereby order you to report for the night patrol as ranking NCO for the foreseeable future."

Wren slitted his eyes momentarily at the verdict, but then shrugged. Night or day patrol, what did it matter? And certainly night patrol would give him a greater chance for some actual action on this sorry rock of a planet.

So he raised his hand in a two-fingered salute and insolently gave the commander a lazy "yes, sir."

He turned his back on Gaff without a second thought. Really, the shiny could be fun, but quite frankly, he was practically too easy to rile. And his responses to Wren's provocations were becoming predictable. It seemed everything on this planet was predictable. Even the bomber had a schedule he kept to.

As he made his way through the corridors that made up Eyat Base, Wren found himself almost looking forward to night patrol. It would cut into his off-shift entertainment, but so far, these bombings were the only interesting thing to have happened since the actual Battle of Gaftikar. And more than anything, Wren craved a good fight, a challenge to his skills. And the shinies of F Company were certainly not up to providing him with either.

Keying open the door to his barracks, Wren made his way over to his bunk. The few shinies present at the moment quickly ducked out of his way, throwing him hasty salutes. One of the first lessons he had taught them was not to cross him.

Throwing his bucket on the bunk in the far corner of the barracks, Wren braced his hands on the frame of the empty bunk set above his, leaning his forehead against the cold durasteel. Already, the small bit of satisfaction he had gleaned from besting Gaff was fading, leaving him feeling empty and unfulfilled. He hated that feeling; hated it almost as much as he hated this planet.

Once, Wren had been an ARC - an Advanced Recon Commando - being trained by Jango Fett himself. He had been taught skills most of the regular troopers could only dream about, being prepared to take on the role of a one-man army. But during his eighth year, Wren had committed the worst mistake of his life and as a result, he'd been 'demoted' to a regular clone trooper. So far, he had been able to live with his new role, more or less. A regular trooper was hardly required to have the same skill set as an ARC, but they were in the thick of every battle and that had been enough for Wren. Droids didn't exactly challenge his cognitive thinking, but the action he had seen on Geonosis, Atraken, Jabiim, Qiilura and all the little skirmishes in-between had taxed his body and given him the adrenaline high he so desperately craved. But kriffing Gaftikar couldn't even offer him that bit of solace.

The Battle of Gaftikar had been short, with losses on the Republic's side so minimal, they were hardly worth mentioning. Wren had barely even broken a sweat as he and his platoon had secured the government block. And it had just gone downhill from there. The skirmishes with the civilians were hardly more than swatting wingstingers, his training sessions with the shinies nothing than an aggravation and his CO...

Wren gave a short, humorless snort. Gaff. Sweet fardling afterburners, the guy was a textbook stick in the mud with no more imagination than a Marit. Everything on this planet was as dull and grey as the durasteel that made up the prefab buildings around him. He could practically feel every part of his body and mind atrophying the longer he stayed here. And the fact that a bomber was the only thing he really had to look forward to was just...

Wren scrubbed at his face with one hand. He had heard the term 'clinical depression' before, but absolutely refused to apply it to his situation. For fek's sake he was a clone, not some whiny, soft civvie with mommy issues. He didn't even have a kriffing mother.

He pushed himself away from the bunks, going over to his locker and began to shed the hard plastoid shell of his armor, thinking over the day's developments. As long as he kept his mind busy somehow, he wouldn't have time to mull over that empty, listless feeling in his gut that never quite went away.

Pulling off his gauntlets, Wren determined that if the planet would not arrange for some entertainment for him, then he would arrange it for himself. He had several projects going on the side, little stints that no one at Eyat Base knew about. Now he did a few, quick mental calculations.

If he arranged his shift-schedule accordingly, he could actually finish his duties and still keep up his forays into the city and the surrounding forests. Actually, this might be for the better. With night patrol, he could visit the local cantinas and bars during the early mornings or afternoons. Neither time made much difference to the clientele he was interested in. He could have a good romp, gather a bit of Intel and start the tedious task of patrolling Eyat with his body nicely relaxed and his mind occupied, more or less.

Wren rolled his neck and shoulders, listening to his bones crunch a little. A small, almost invisible smile came to his lips, even if it was somewhat forced. A bomber to find, an opportunity for a daylight roll in the sheets and shinies to terrorize. Things might not be looking up, but he refused to give in to the empty feeling tearing at his insides. His incarceration on Gaftikar couldn't last forever. Maybe afterwards he could find someone who could actually _challenge _him.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Just a small warning about chapters. I don't set myself a word limit for these things, so chapters in this story might be a little longer than what you are used to from _On Wings of Silver and Lead. _Nothing epic, I promise, but I tend to close a chapter when I think best, so some might clock somewhere around 7,000 words or more. Oh, and, please keep in mind this is a T rated story. Swearing and violence will come, but you know my style by now. Nothing too explicit. Next chapter...Ro enters the scene, stage left.


	3. Chapter 2: Vital Communications II

**Author's Note: **This chapter references events from _Star Wars: Wild Space _by Karen Miller. You don't have to know the novel to understand what is happening, but it is a darned good read, particularly for all those Obi-Wan lovers out there. You know who you are. You might also want to take a look at _The Clone Wars: No Prisoners _by Karen Traviss, to find out what happened on JanFathal.

* * *

**Vital Communications II**

"_Funny thing how when you reach out, people tend to reach right back. Best, then, to make sure your hand is open and not fisted." _

– _Richelle E. Goodrich_

* * *

_The High Council Chamber, the Jedi Temple, Coruscant, Core Worlds, 21 BBY (22 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

As the holographic image of Eyat Command Base and its clone commander dissipated, Jedi Master Mace Windu pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a weary sigh.

"Troubling events of Gaftikar are," Master Yoda, sitting beside him said.

Windu looked down at the diminutive Jedi, who was both the oldest, most respected and most powerful member of the Order. But at that moment, sitting a little slumped forward in his seat and his eyes closed, his former Master appeared as fatigued as he felt.

"I have to agree with you, Master Yoda," Windu said. "However, as unfortunate as these displays of wanton violence are, I find your promise of sending Jedi reinforcements far more troubling."

The ancient Jedi opened his luminescent brown eyes, turning the full power of that gaze on the other man. "A request for help received we have. Deny this, we cannot. Remember you must, that unwilling the people of Gaftikar were to join the Republic. More than responsible for their safety does that make the Jedi."

"But who Master Yoda?" Windu asked entreatingly. For emphasis, he rose from the chair that was his as a member of the High Council and knelt before the still seated figure of Yoda. "Who could we possible send? Every available Jedi Knight and Master is already out in the field. Even the older Padawans have been sent out. The Temple nowadays houses no one but the oldest and the youngest of the Order." Windu gave a heavy sigh, feeling the burden of his command and his responsibilities weigh heavily on his shoulders. Once, he had found himself able to carry it with the strength of his convictions and his youth. But now, after over a year of constant warfare, he found that being responsible for the lives of so many Jedi and clones and the entire population of the Republic was wearing him down. And there was so little comfort to be found in the Force, muddied and disturbed as it was by the violence raging through the galaxy and the influence of the dark side.

It was at times like these that Geonosis and his fatal decision to strike first at Jango Fett, rather than Count Dooku, came back to haunt him. If he had acted differently, if he had done things _right, _then maybe...

Mace Windu pushed these doubts from his mind. A Jedi did not lament the past, but focused on the present and at the present, they had a war to fight and, it seemed, a bomber to stop.

"Perhaps," Windu said reluctantly, "one of us could travel to Gaftikar, for a short time at least."

Yoda looked down kindly at the Jedi Master. "Know that we cannot, you do. To lead the war, our role is. To advice the Chancellor, we are needed. On Coruscant we must stay. Ask another to aid Gaftikar we must."

It was, perhaps, a sign of his extreme fatigue that Mace Windu felt irritation rise up in him at those words. As quickly as it had come though, the Korun Jedi let the emotion run through him and back into the Force. He was a Jedi Master and a member of the High Council after all. You did not rise to such august a calling if you did not learn the art of controlling what was your native passionate nature.

"Forgive me, Master Yoda," he said, both as a segue into his next question, as well as an apology for his short temper. "But that brings me back to my earlier question. Who could we possibly send to Gaftikar, who is not already desperately needed on the frontlines?"

"Hmmm," Yoda said and closed his eyes once more, his long ears dipping gently, before twitching back, as if listening to some far-off whisper. "Send no one, we can," the ancient Jedi finally said. Then he opened his eyes to regard the carefully blanked face of his former Padawan. "But ask for someone else to send help, we can."

It was not often that Mace Windu found himself unable to follow Yoda's logic. "Master?" he asked, as uncertain as he had once been as a boy, still trying to divine the greater mysteries of the Force.

With an agility that belied his advanced years, Yoda hopped from the mediation pad that served as his chair on the High Council and made his way towards the holotransmitter, gimer stick _tap-tap-tapping _softly against the marbled floor. "To send one of his Jedi, Master Altis we shall ask."

It was even less often that Mace Windu found himself gaping at the head of the Order like a Sullustan fluke fish. "Master Altis…the Altisian Jedi? Master Yoda, are you sure that is wise?"

Yoda turned around slightly to regard the Human male, his face thoughtful, but his eyes stern. "A Jedi, Master Altis is, though different the path he follows from that of the Order. Much good he has done, since the start of the Clone Wars."

"But Master Yoda," Windu objected, rising and following the diminutive Jedi to where he stood in front of the holotransmitter, "Master Altis has declared himself and his people non-combatants in this war. He and his followers have no training for this type of situation."

Impatient now with his constant questioning, Yoda tapped the end of his gimer stick forcefully against the intricate mural of the Council Chamber's floor. "Know this, you do how? Speak not to Master Altis we have, in too long. And forgotten have you, JanFathal?" The last question was followed with another tap of the gimer stick. "Credibly Master Altis and his people acted. Praised their skills were in the reports of both Captain Pellaeon and young Skywalker." Then Yoda peered very closely up at Windu's face, a trace of humor returning to his large eyes. "And like you said. Who else to ask we have?"

Windu felt his shoulders slump slightly in defeat and he gave another sigh. "You are right, of course, Master Yoda and on all accounts. We have no choice, but to turn to Master Altis and hope that he might help us."

"Choice?" Yoda asked bemused. "A choice, there always is, my former apprentice. So many choices there are to make, in fact, that appear to be one and the same, they can." And with that cryptic remark to occupy Windu, Master Yoda began tapping in the calling code for Master Altis's praxeum ship, the _Chu'unthor. _

A young Human female, who identified herself as Ash Jarvee, answered their comm call. She seemed almost as startled to see the two high ranking Jedi as if they had been a Shard performing a tap dance, but she promised to summon Master Altis immediately and put them on hold.

Unused to be kept waiting, Master Windu crossed his arms over his broad chest, his brows lowering thunderously. As expected, the Altisians had little knowledge regarding the proper protocol when dealing with two members of the High Council. Luckily though, they were not kept waiting for long.

There was a brief burst of static as the holo was switched back to realtime and the life-sized holo image of aged Master Djinn Altis appeared before them.

"Well, well. Master Yoda, Master Windu, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" The leader of the Altisians asked jovially.

Quickly, Windu glanced at Yoda.

"Require your aid, the Order does, Master Altis."

Altis frowned a little, an action that deepened the lines around his mouth. "Aid for what, exactly?" He asked, a note of wariness in his voice. "Another extraction?"

Taking his cue from Yoda, Mace Windu took up the tale, explaining to the Altisian leader the situation developing on distant and seemingly unimportant Gaftikar.

"Ultimately," Windu concluded, "we do not have the Jedi available to look into this matter and clone intelligence units are needed in more urgent theaters of the war. But we dare not leave the situation unresolved, either. Lives could be at stake and the Separatists have become all too comfortable in using bombs to spread fear among the populace."

Unspoken between all three Jedi Masters was the terrorist bombing of a block of Senate offices last year, which had resulted in hundreds of deaths and the near demise of Obi-Wan Kenobi himself. Yes, bombs had become a favorite weapon among Separatist operatives.

"Yes," Master Altis said and gave a heavy sigh. "I understand." For a brief moment, Altis's face actually reflected all the decades of his life and then some. It seemed, at least to Mace Windu, that this was a day to feel ones age.

But the Altisian Master was well known for his resilience, and his countenance soon cleared, new determination lighting his face along with a smile. "Actually, I believe I have the perfect person for the job." The smile turned undeniably fond as the white haired Human continued. "She is trained as an investigator by some of the best people in the galaxy and her track record is quite impressive for someone her age. And it just so happens that she just wrapped up a case on Ord Mantell, so I know she's available."

"And who might this investigator be?" Windu asked suspiciously. There was something about the gleam in Master Altis's eyes that was unsettling even through the distortion of a holo. And besides that, the eccentric Jedi Master was well-known for associating with some of the most _bizarre _characters in the galaxy.

"You know her, actually. She used to be a Padawan at the Temple and by all accounts, her older brother is making quite a name for himself in the Order. Padawan Ro Arhen; the little girl you found on Dantooine, along with her brother."

At the name, both Grand Master Yoda and Master Windu exchanged looks that were equal parts startled and apprehensive.

"Ro Arhen," Windu repeated carefully. "As in Roweena Arhen?"

"That would be the one," Altis replied and there was barely suppressed laughter in his voice.

Windu turned towards Yoda, who was staring at the hologram with a definite distracted air. "Master Yoda, isn't she the one who crashed your hoverchair into the statue of Master Gal-Stod Slagistrough when she was eight?"

The ancient Jedi solemnly folded his hands over the top of his gimer stick. "Hmmm, seven, I believe she was."

Altis was definitely laughing now.

Yoda glanced up from his contemplation of his folded hands, looking first at the chortling Altisian Master, then at the worried face of his former Padawan. There was a definite spark of mischief in his eyes as he said, "The Force, in mysterious ways it does work."

Truer words had never been spoken. Windu covered his eyes with one big hand. Muttering beneath his breath, he said, "We're doomed."

* * *

_Onboard of the _Mockingbird, _docked at Ord Mantell Orbital Station, orbiting the planet Ord Mantell, Mid Rim, 21 BBY (22 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Ithorians had two mouths and four throats, a biological trait that gave them immensely powerful voices. The four throats could be used to expel air in a blast powerful enough to either deafen or concuss an opponent. To Ro's immense pleasure, it also made them astounding singers.

The recording of a rare Ithorian acapella quartet had been an unexpected find during this case and now that the business of finding and neutralizing an escaped psychotic killer with a preference for cutting his victims tongues out was done, Ro cranked up the sound and listened.

The interior of the _Mockingbird, _a mongrel ship cobbled together by her adoptive father and mentor Shiv Sanarl, practically vibrated with the sounds of the Ithorians' oddly stereophonic voices. Their timbre dipped so low in frequency sometimes, that her Human ears could no longer actually detect them, but which made her bones vibrate.

Sitting in her workroom aboard her ship – well, almost her ship, she was still in the process of paying off the mortgage – Ro was surrounded by sound. Scattered before her on the worktable were the various jeweler tools she needed to produce her own jewelry. Being a Jedi was a grand thing and she truly loved what she did, but the Force tended to be a bit sketchy when one had bills to pay. Ro had enough artistic talent to create jewelry that seemed to appeal to a great number of species and the profits were enough to keep her afloat and independent. Most of the time.

While the sound of Ithorian singing swelled in a crescendo of titanic proportions, Ro carefully wove a thin gold wire through the small openings of a lace-like circlet made of pewter. It would be the centerpiece for a necklace and already Ro was pleased with how the bright gold contrasted with the bluish-silver grey of the pewter. She didn't get to work with gold often. It was a pricy bit of metal, but from time to time she managed to have enough credits left over to buy some discarded pieces of gold jewelry from a pawnshop. Shiv would then do her the favor of melting the gold in his workshop, back on Ansion. It was such a fun metal to work with; it bent with an ease that was almost eagerness and it added a bit of class to the otherwise cheaper materials she used. Not that she disliked working with lesser metals, glass and wood. It was just the rarity of the opportunity and…

The music abruptly cut off, just as the Ithorian quartet was entering a grand finale that had had her thinking of echoing canyons and leviathan sea creatures in graceful flight.

Ro looked up, startled, the movement causing her bangs to fall into her eyes. Without thinking, she blew them out of her teal eyes again.

Over the _Mockingbird's _interior comm system came the sudden anxious beeping of her astromech, R3-T3.

Ro cocked her head. "What's the matter, Artee?" she asked, knowing that the ship's internal comm system was sensitive enough to pick up her voice from anywhere and at any volume. "Don't tell me you got your plug caught in the trash compactor again."

There was a high-pitched whistle that made her wince, as R3-T3 implored her not to remind him of that nightmarish event. Then the astromech's beeps and whistles returned to a more comfortable pitch and the little droid told her that there was an incoming transmission waiting for her.

"A transmission? From whom? I didn't hear anything."

Another few beeps. The transmission carried the comm signature of the _Chu'unthor _and perhaps the reason she hadn't heard anything was because she had been playing her music again at dangerously high decibel levels. In his usual flare for the dramatics, R3 went on to remind Ro that her fragile Human ears could be permanently damaged by as little as eighty-five dB and that deafness in a pilot could have serious consequences on flight-readiness. Why, chances that they would be blown to microscopic particles because she couldn't detect the sound of an overheating hyperdrive coil increased by 25.67843…

"'Kay Artee, I get it." Ro said, throwing her hands up and laughing at the swell of information. "Next time, feel free to turn down the volume, when you feel that my "fragile Human ears" are at risk." She just had to smile at her astromech's paranoia. Then, as she began to put away her tools, she added, "And please tell whoever is trying to reach me on the _Chu'unthor _that I'll be there in a minute."

Artee tootled a happy agreement and clicked the internal comm closed. Ro shook her head and began in earnest to clean up her workspace. The astromech was a funny little droid. When she had first discovered his badly damaged body on Lotho Minor during a scavenging trip with Shiv, the old Shistavanen had told her she'd be better off selling him for scrap. But the little astromech had let out such a mournful whistle at Shiv's words, that Ro hadn't been able to leave the droid behind to be eventually devoured or torn apart by either the planet's Fire-breathers or the Junkers. And though he had been heavily damaged, R3 had cleaned up quite nicely. And he was a great astromech droid, even if he was prone to bouts of hypochondria and over-dramatizations.

Ro closed the last of the drawers and did a quick visual sweep of the space. What had once been one of the four cabins aboard the _Mockingbird _had been converted to a viable workspace for her. Three walls were completely covered with a series of wooden drawers, cupboards and small closets, containing all manners of tools, material, finished jewelry and a plethora of other items necessary to her role as a Jedi investigator. She let her fingers trail over the worktable, situated against one wall and facing the door, but its surface too was clear of all debris. Ro was not a naturally tidy person, but traveling through space on a regular basis had taught her that it was a bad idea to have bits and pieces left about that could wedge themselves into critical systems. One afternoon of wriggling through the _Mockingbird's _ventilation system in search of an errant bead had driven that lesson home quite well, thank you very much.

Satisfied, Ro left the workroom and made her way through the corridor towards the cockpit. Unlike the rest of the ship, the corridor was relatively narrow; two people couldn't walk side-by-side in it. Singing softly under her breath, trying to imitate the Ithorian singing, Ro's fingers danced along the walls of the corridor. When she had first seen the _Mockingbird, _the ship's exterior and interior had been nothing but dull grey durasteel. Shiv was a fantastic tinkerer in all things mechanical, but his creative talents did not extend to decorative colorings. Over the past year, however, Ro had decorated the walls of the cabins, corridor and galley with brightly colored murals. The effect was far more cheerful than the ship's original design and added a sense of openness and light to the interior living spaces. And it had given her something to do during hours of hyperspace travel.

Still singing, Ro vaulted up the ladder at the end of the galley and into the cockpit. Artee was there waiting or her, plugged into the _Mockingbird's _main console. Ro took the pilot's seat to the left of the droid, padding him on his curved dome as the seat automatically adjusted itself to her form for maximum comfort. Shiv, the ship's builder, had loved his little luxuries.

"Okay Artee, let's open communications," she told the droid and the astromech's domed head spun a little, before letting out a series of agreeable chirps.

The holo in the middle of the half-circle of consoles flickered into life and an image of Master Altis, no more than a hand span tall, materialized before her. Ro beamed at the sight of her Master.

"Master Altis! _Myo gless._" And she folded her hands before her, bowing from her seated position.

To her delight, the older Human male chuckled. "My, my Ro. Another language learned, I see. Well done. You are turning into quite the little translator droid." His eyes racked her form, his smile of welcome becoming wider. "And I see you have a new hairstyle."

She smiled at the compliment, then reached behind her, dragging her long hair forwards, letting the straight, thick mass drape around her body. "Do you like it?" She asked eagerly, running her fingers through the strands. The natives of Ansion dyed their manes in a ritualistic fashion and Ro had loved the designs as soon as she'd set eyes on them. Since then, she'd been trying to emulate the Ansionians. Her latest attempt were lines of zigzags in electric blue that wove their way through her otherwise platinum blond hair.

"It looks brilliant, my dear," Master Altis assured her. "Though I have to say, the orange polkadots are still my favorite."

She laughed at memory. "I don't think Eda would agree with you on that score, Master." No, her adoptive mother, friend and mentor had not been a fan of Ro's 'color experimentations' with her hair.

Ro was about to say more when she cocked her head inquisitively at his holo image. There was something not right here. Master Altis looked pleased to see her, as always, but she could see a strain on his face that had not been there the last time they had spoken to each other.

"Is something the matter, Master?"

He gave her another smile, more tired than the one before. "I'm afraid there is dear, and I am sorry to say that the burden of resolving the problem falls unto you. I have just finished a conversation with Masters Yoda and Windu."

Inquisitive puzzlement turned into full-blown curiosity and Ro leaned eagerly towards the holoreceiver. This was something utterly new.

"The High Council contacted _us_?" she asked in disbelieve. They had never done that before. While the Altisian Jedi were not exactly regarded as outcasts of the Order, they were certainly the crazy aunt kept locked up in the attic. The mainstream Jedi did not like to admit to the existence of splinter groups like the Altisians and their unorthodox Force philosophies. And while the Clone Wars had forced a certain level of cooperation on both sides, direct communication was rare. "So, what happened?" she inquired. "Must be pretty desperate to force the Council to involve us."

Master Altis gave a low chuckle. "I would say so, yes. Apparently, there has been a rash of bombings on a planet called Gaftikar in the Outer Rim. So far, there have been three attacks on a weekly basis. I have been told there were two casualties already."

Ro frowned at this, gazing off momentarily through the viewport as she processed that information. "That's oddly specific," she murmured, more to herself than to her Master. "This type of regularity speaks of a highly organized individual, but the casualty count is so low. Multiple attacks suggest a serial bomber, but they usually aim for a far higher kill count. Hmmm…"

She hadn't realized that her mind had drifted off until both Artee and Master Altis caught her attention with either a pointed cough or a beep. Startled, Ro smiled apologetically at the image of Master Altis.

"Sorry, Master. I didn't mean to zone out like that."

"That's quite alright, my dear. Your familiarity with these types of criminals is, after all, the reason why I am asking you to go to Gaftikar. The clone contingent there has already started an investigation, but I have been told that these are…ehm…_very young _men and they do not have the experience this type of investigation demands. Which is why they asked the Council for reinforcement and since the Council doesn't have the Jedi to spare, they asked us. And since you have both my training and Shiv's and Eda's, I am asking you."

Ro had to laugh at that. "Wow. The wonders of modern communication." She shook her head, then her eyes went wide as another part of Altis's explanation registered with her. "Wait! Did you say clones? There are clones on Gaftikar?" And she made a hand gesture at Artee, letting the droid know that she wanted all information on the planet and its recent history downloaded from the HoloNet.

"Yes, that's right. There's a company of them stationed there, to help the locals restore the peace, as well as a sort of….I believe the expression is 'dry run', before deployment on the battlefield."

Artee beeped and another holo blossomed next to that of Master Altis, displaying the Gaftikar system, with the planet they were going to highlighted in red. Another beep, and information began to scroll onto the datapad she kept in the cockpit for just this kind of situation. Ro's eyes flicked from the image of her Master, to that of the planet, to the pad's screen.

"Ro?"

"I'll start take-off procedures right now, Master." She told him, her eyes focusing on his image alone now, a new sharpness to them. "I can be there by the next planetary rotation."

With a promise to send her all the available reports on the bombings, Master Altis signed off. True to her word, Ro began preparations for take-off immediately; getting the engines warmed up and letting Ord Mantell Orbiting Station know of her departure. The controller on duty cleared her for take-off and wished her a good trip.

As the _Mockingbird's _engines began to thrum, Ro leaned back in the pilot's chair in thought, idly running her hands through her long platinum blond hair, playing with the charm that dangled from the end of her Padawan braid. Unlike some of the other Altisian Jedi, Ro had never met the clones that made up the bulk of the Grand Army. Even this mission, although Ord Mantell sported a military garrison, had not brought her into contact with the men whose very existence was the centre of so many debates among the Altisians nowadays. Ro was a Jedi investigator, a Force-sensitive who specialized in the solving of crimes and the infiltration of criminal organizations for the purpose of gathering useful Intel. But those were civilian crimes and she had often been reminded of that fact by both Master Altis and various military officials. The GAR had its own military police and investigative service branch and those boys were _territorial. _As such, she had always been barred from coming close to any military installation, treated just like any other civvie, Jedi or no. And as a non-combatant she was prohibited from entering any active war zone. So Ro's closest encounter with clones had been via the HoloNet and she doubted very much that HNE gave any kind of accurate portrayal of anything connected to the war. But after hearing Callista and Geith talk about their experiences on JanFathal, Ro had become quite curios. Not to mention, she wanted to meet the men her brother Garett spent most of his time with now.

"Guess I'll finally meet the heroes of the Republic," she murmured quietly to herself, watching as the _Mockingbird _cleared Ord Mantell's orbit. Then she smiled. "I wonder if they like cookies?"

And she punched in the coordinates for Gaftikar, listening to the hyperspace engines's deep song and watching as the starscape dissolved before her.

* * *

**Translation: **_Myo gless _= I am filled with joy (Durese)


	4. Chapter 3: First Impressions

**First Impressions**

"_Confidence is ignorance. If you're feeling cocky, it's because there's something you don't know." _

_- Eoin Colfer_

* * *

_Onboard the _Mockingbird, _approaching Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Ro looked up from the datapad she'd been studying these past few hours, when Artee alerted her that it was time to drop out of hyperspace. Setting the pad aside, Ro's fingers nimbly danced over the consoles, beginning preparations to reenter realspace.

"Righto, let's see what we're up against, eh Artee?" And she winked at her droid cheekily, as the astromech gave a worried toot.

"Pessimist," she teased, just as the _Mockingbird _gave the tiniest of lurches and the starscape outside of the viewport once more resembled dark velvet pierced with pinpricks of light, rather than an abstract painting. Ro leaned forward in her seat, eager to catch a first glimpse of the planet.

Then she practically shot out of her skin as the _Mockingbird's _proximity alarms started howling and Artee gave an electronic shriek, certain that they were about to be dashed to bits, ready to meet the Maker and…

"Artee, calm down," Ro said firmly, hands already on the controls and eyes searching for the cause of the alarms. She had no idea what could have tripped the proximity sensors. Gaftikar had neither an asteroid belt or field. She knew that, because she had checked it during her crash course about the planet's history. But Ro knew her ship and if the _Mockingbird _said something was out there, then something was out there.

And she didn't have to look far to find it. With widening eyes, Ro saw that the immediate space above the planet was littered with debris. And not just any kind of space junk, either. _A Separatist dreadnaught,_ she realized. _Or what's left of it. _Staring out of the viewport, Ro saw entire sections of hull float by, along with smaller, unidentifiable parts of what had once been a Separatist _Providence_-class command ship, if she didn't completely miss her guess. Most of what had been left to drift pinged harmlessly off of her ship's deflector shields, but she eyed the big chunks warily. There were some that were almost as big, if not bigger, than her ship.

"Huh," she said, craning her neck to watch a chunk of metal serenely float end over end a few meters ahead and above her position. "You'd think they could put up a warning beacon or something."

Having significantly reduced the speed of the sublight engines, the _Mockingbird _was now more or less floating as well and as they came closer, Ro saw that the piece of junk that had caught her attention was very oddly shaped. She gently nudged the steering yoke and the ship made a gentle dip beneath the hunk. It was hard to see much in the blackness of space, but this close, Ro saw that this particular piece of battle debris was actually a mass of battle droids, fused together by the heat of the explosion that must have ripped apart their cruiser. Artee saw it as well and began to rock a little back and forth, giving the impression that the astromech was shaking in fright.

Ro reached out and soothingly patted the droid's dome. "Don't worry, Artee. That battle is long over with. And besides, you're not a battle droid, so buck up. Keep going like that and you'll give yourself another power outage."

The droid gave her a low, quaking little whistle, but his shaking did subside. Ro sighed. Once his rather fearful nature had become apparent to her, Ro had decided to paint a sprawling, crimson and gold krayt dragon on the astromech's cylindrical body. She had hoped that the paintjob would help Artee gain a little more confidence and courage, but so far, it hadn't panned out. Ah, well. It still looked good.

Keeping a close eye on the lazily spinning pieces of durasteel, Ro could only shake her head in wonder. "Looks like HNE was finally right about something. Our boys in white really did kick the stuffing out of the Seppies on this one. May wonders never cease." Beside her, Artee gave an unhappy chortle; he didn't see anything wondrous in this.

Ro blew the bangs out of her eyes in slight exasperation. She loved her little astromech, she truly did, but sometimes he was so literal. "It's just an expression, Artee," she soothed him. "Now how about increasing out aft shields by .4? Bet that'll make you feel better."

Sufficiently mollified, Artee toodled his agreement and set about recalibrating the shields. There was nothing that made the little droid happier than increasing power to the shields.

Finally clearing the worst of the debris field, Ro caught her first glimpse of Gaftikar.

It looked surprisingly pretty. The planet's land surface seemed to consist mostly of vast green areas, with little to break up the scene. Gaftikar only had a population of half a billion, so there were few settlements in-between the forests, heathlands and rolling hills that made up the planets geography. Here and there, Ro could see spots of blue: lakes and rivers. The planet only had one ocean, but she was on the wrong side to see it.

"Nice place," she murmured mostly to herself. "Too bad about the psychotic bomber, though."

When they had reached the end of the debris field left over from the Battle of Gaftikar, the ship's comlink beeped, the light flashing to indicate an incoming transmission. Ro flipped a switch to open the channel and a voice - male, adult, and very professional sounding – came in over the speakers.

"Starship _Mockingbird, _do you read? This is Gaftikar Flight Control. Acknowledge _Mockingbird._"

"This is the _Mockingbird, _Gaftikar Flight Control," Ro answered, well familiar with the routine of approaching a spaceport. _Well, at least their equipment works well enough to receive the registration from my automated transponder. _That was encouraging.

"What is your business in this system, _Mockingbird?_" Ro raised an eyebrow at the direct question. No banter, no personal queries? Either this flight controller was new or Gaftikar Flight Control was still jumpy from the battle. _Or maybe, _it occurred to her, _that's not a civilian flight controller. _

"Gaftikar Flight Control, requesting surface clearance for maintenance and trade. Sending over id and credentials now."

A momentary pause, then the flight controllers voice came again. "Copy that, _Mockingbird. _Id and credentials received. Surface clearance approved. Sending coordinates for landing now. Welcome to Gaftikar, Miss Ikuzu." The last part was added a bit tentatively, as if this little piece of courtesy was not part of the regular routine the flight controller was used to. _Definitely no civilian, _Ro decided. From the information she had received from Master Altis, the Order and the HoloNet, Ro knew that the clone contingent on the planet had been placed in charge of general security. She just hadn't thought that their authority would extend to monitoring all incoming traffic. _Makes sense though. _

Artee beeped at her to let her know that he had received the landing coordinates and Ro began the descent into the planet's atmosphere, on course for the capital city Eyat and Gaftikar's only spaceport.

The _Mockingbird _might be a mongrel ship, but she was a sweet ride and entering atmo was no problem. Nor was the actual landing. Once the landing struts had made contact with the duracrete, Ro switched off the ship's engines and, gathering her id chip and papers, made her way to the cargo bay. When the cargo hatch began to open, a bright stab of sunlight momentarily blinded her. Raising one hand to shield her eyes, Ro waited until the loading ramp was fully extended, then made her way onto Gaftikar soil and her next assignment.

_Shouldn't be too hard, _she thought confidently. _Bombers tend to bear a grudge a blind Gamorrean would notice and I have an entire company to help. _The thought was quite exciting actually. She rarely got to work with other people on these cases.

Someone from port administration was waiting for her, datapad in hand. And for one of the few times in her life, Ro found herself having to look down at someone to make eye contact.

The Marit stood about a meter tall, had light beige scales that, in the bright sunshine, looked slightly iridescent. Ro wasn't sure whether the reptilian humanoid facing her was male or female, but she found the small black eyes with their red-slit pupils enchanting.

"Name please," the Marit said, in perfect Basic.

"Roweena Ikuzu," she said, proud at how naturally the alias now flowed from her tongue. When Eda had first begun training her in the finer arts of covert operations, the elderly Human female had only done so under the coercion of her husband, Shiv. But now, two years later, Eda had become fond enough of Ro to allow her to use her surname for her fallback identity.

"Id and registration, please."

Ro handed over her id chip and the relevant papers, which declared that Roweena Ikuzu was the niece of one Eda Ikuzu, currently living on Ansion, and a licensed member of the Artists Guild, as well as the lawful owner of one starship, calling id: _Mockingbird. _Aside from her relation to Eda, none of these facts was false. Eda and Shiv kept a room for Ro in their house on Ansion and she had legally registered with the Artists Guild. And she only had two-hundred and thirty-six more payments to go, before the _Mockingbird _was completely hers. Eda had taught Ro that it was important to have an alias to fall back on, one that was close enough to the truth that the facts would be easy to recall in a time of duress. And as 'Roweena Ikuzu' she could travel through Eyat and conduct her investigation without attracting the attention her identity as a Jedi would. At least, until such a time came when being a Jedi would prove more useful.

The Marit peered closely at each document, then handed them back to Ro. "What is your purpose for visiting Eyat and will you be keeping to the city limits?"

Ro thought about that for a while. As a visitor, she would need to request a permit of stay, a temporary id that showed that she was on Gaftikar legally. Those permits tended to be made out according to specific geographic locations, but on a planet as sparsely populated as this, an artist would not have much reason to leave the capitol. Particularly not a jeweler.

"I'm hoping to sell my jewelry at the local market, so I guess I'll be staying in Eyat for now." When the time came to reveal herself as a Jedi, she could always make other travel arrangements. "Do I need a permit to sell, or is it a free market?" She asked, continuing in her persona as a traveling artist and trader.

The Marit was busily tapping away at his datapad – Ro had, by now, decided that it was a male – and nodded his head in an oddly birdlike movement. "No permit required if you're just planning to sell on the market grounds. You'll have to pay a fee though if you want to rent a stall."

Ro shook her head. A stall would tie her to one place. As a free seller, she could set up a small table anywhere she liked and keep moving.

The Marit entered a few more commands, then handed the pad to Ro. She quickly scanned the information, then placed her thumbprint at the bottom. The datapad whirred slightly, then flashed green and ejected a small chip from the side. Ro took it and handed the pad back to the Marit.

"Enjoy your stay," he said curtly and scuttled off to the next ship, tail swinging behind him, while his head bobbed back and forward like that of a nuna.

Done with the administrative part of docking, Ro took a moment to take in the spaceport. There wasn't much to see. There was a control tower attached to what she guessed was a larger office building. The spaceport boasted three hangars and a permacrete landing platform pockmarked by craters in various stages of being filled in. Ro wondered if those craters were a sign of general wear and tear or left over from the battle two months ago. The spaceport, according to the mission report she had been given, had been a priority target for both the GAR and the Separatists and had been subject to a lot of shelling.

Besides her ship, there were four more and none of them were civilian. Squinting a little in the bright sunshine, Ro could make out the stenciled id markers of corporate freighters. Each of the freighters bore the id _Shenio Mining, _followed by a serial number. It seemed that Shenio Mining wasn't big on creative freedom or personalization when it came to their ships. Looking about her, Ro thought that, for a spaceport this small and empty, there was a lot of activity. Everywhere she looked, Ro saw people on their way to some task or another. The overwhelming majority of them where the lizard-like Marits, the rest Humans. And scattered in between like snowflakes on Mustafar, were white-armored clone soldiers. Given the fact that she was the only visitor in what looked like a long time, Ro wondered what all these people did all day, to justify this much activity? If she wanted to get a feel of the city, then she might as well start now, with this little mystery.

Ro, her papers still in hand, crossed her arms over her narrow chest and leaned her head back. Closing her eyes as if she were enjoying the sun, she let her Force-senses spread out in soft waves. Whenever her awareness encountered another sentient being, ripples were created and came back to her, letting her taste and feel and smell the emotional atmosphere of her immediate surroundings. Having had her first instructions in how to use her empathic abilities by a Zeltron had given Ro the tendency to translate the sensations she received via the Force into physical traits.

The Marits were like ice-cubes melting on her tongue; their feelings so precise and concentrated, they were practically mathematical. The Humans, including the troopers, were more diverse. Ro got the sharp, acrid smell of _worry, fear, anxiety, _wrapped inside a layer of _control _and _focus _that felt like durasteel to her slightly twitching fingers. There was the tantalizing promise of more, but her reach wouldn't extend that far. Having gathered what she could, Ro turned back and reentered the ship, ready to gather her things and scout the city itself.

As she packed some of the finished jewelry into a gunnysack, Artee whistled a question at her over the ship's comm. Ro shook her head in answer.

"No Artee. I don't want you to contact the GAR base just now. You know I like to get a feel of the city and the people first. Once the base knows that the Jedi they requested is here, I have to work in an 'official'," and she made quotation marks in the air with one hand, while stowing away a pair of earrings with the other, "capacity. You know how people get when they find out I'm a Jedi. They get antsy, or try to lie, or get angry or whatnot and that is just going to clutter my senses. A fresh breath of clean air first and then the pollutants of the crime."

That being said, she stowed her two lightsabers in a side pocket and closed the gunnysack. Last, she grabbed her quetarra, swinging its strap over one slim shoulder. Ro would have liked to bring her cello - although she liked the quetarra, she'd only been learning how to play it for three months and she wasn't particularly good with it yet - but the cello was too big for her to schlepp around easily. Besides, with a bomber on the loose, no way was she going to endanger her most precious instrument. The quetarra would help her just as well. Music, Ro had discovered, was a good way to bring people close enough to her that she could get a feel of their essence through the Force, without corrupting that essence through direct manipulation on her part. And that was what she needed; a good whiff of the populaces emotional feel, so that she could more easily identify any abnormalities. It was also why, for now, she would remain incognito. If she wanted to get a feel for her surroundings, she had to blend in and Jedi as a rule did not blend. But traveling artists were everywhere.

"You know," she said coaxingly to the air of the workroom and the comm. "You could come with me. A change of scenery would do you good, Artee."

The droid beeped and whistled, telling her firmly thanks but no thanks. Given the recent history of the locals with droids, there was a 31.537% chance that he would be shot on sight and he very much preferred his servo-processors where they were.

Ro shrugged. "Suit yourself, but you're missing out on the fun." Stepping out of the cabin, she wiggled her fingers in farewell in the direction of the cockpit and her astromech. "Keep an eye on the place until I get back and try not to get yourself slagged."

Artee gave a fretful whistle, wondering what clue she had picked up to make her believe that he was in danger of that dire fate. Ro laughed and walked back into the bright Gaftikari sunshine.

* * *

_The Tanked Mynock cantina, Eyat city spaceport, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

The half hour alarm chimed, just as Wren was in the process of snapping closed the fasteners on his armored boots. _Well, no one ever complained about my timing, _he thought and grinned in satisfaction.

Fully armored now except for his bucket, Wren got up off the bed and made his way over the only chair in the small room. The upper floors of the Tanked Mynock were not meant for long-term comfort, but were an ideal spot for a few hours of uninterrupted R&R.

"Going already?" came a low voice and Wren turned back to the bed, to see the waitress he had picked up downstairs reclining on her side; idly watching him, while the sheets only covered her from the waist down. Wren let his eyes trail over her form, before giving her a lazy smile.

"Duty calls."

She gave a dramatic sigh, flicking a lock of red hair out of her face. "Oh, you soldiers. Always a ready excuse on hand."

"If you didn't like it, maybe you should have gone up with that banker."

"And miss out on all that vigor?"

And she gave a groan to emphasize her point, letting herself fall onto her back, the motion doing interesting things with her exposed anatomy. Wren's nostrils flared at the scent coming off of the sheets and inwardly cursed Gaff and his panicky shiny mind. As soon as the Marit leader Cebz had informed the commander about an intended public appearance and speech late last evening, Gaff had begun shuffling duty rosters and ordering his best men on security detail. And that just so happened to include Wren, as grudging as the commander was to admit it.

_And while something might happen and I could get the chance to bash some heads in, I wish Gaff would make up his karking mind. One minute I'm on the regular duty roster, the next I'm permanently on night patrol and now I'm playing frakking 'spot-the-troubleshooter-in-the-crowd' with a city full of pissed off Humans. _

He grabbed his helmet, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion and left the room without another backwards glance. Not that it mattered. He'd gotten what he'd come for and so had the woman. Everything afterwards was superfluous and he never bothered with tawdry goodbyes or promises of meeting later. Neither did the women he chose to engage himself with.

Once, during a brief stay at Kemla Yard, when he had still been with his original company, the 43rd, he had been witness to an altercation between apetty officer and a civilian contractor. The woman had been shouting her head off about some slight against her that the petty officer was rigorously denying had ever taken place. The couple had caused such a scene that nearly the entire hangar bay had come to a standstill. While the two had certainly provided Wren with some momentary entertainment, he'd learned his lesson well from it. Whenever he picked up a woman, he sure as hell made sure she knew that this was nothing more than a quick roll. A one-night stand for some quick, uncomplicated pleasure and a chance for him to work off some of his pent-up frustrations and energy. None of the women so far had ever complained.

Coming down to the main floor, Wren did a quick, instinctive survey of his surroundings. It was early yet, not quite noon, but that seemed to make little difference to the patrons of the Tanked Mynock. Most of the tables had at least one occupant and the stools around the bar were filled with the ubiquitous barflies. Ever since the end of the battle, Wren had noticed that the only businesses who appeared to be making a steady income were the local bars, taverns and cantinas. Instead of working, most of the Humans of Gaftikar seemed content to drift towards any local watering holes, drowning their disappointments over the outcome of the battle with cheap liquor and whiling the days away with airing complaints and grievances, then wandering the streets at night, looking to take out some of those grievances on the troopers they held accountable. It was one of the reasons why Wren hadn't put up too much of a fuss when Gaff had delegated him to permanent night patrols. This way, Wren could stalk some of the seedier drinking establishments, listening in on the conversations of men enough into their cups to be talkative, but not so far gone into inebriation that all they did was spout slurred insults. And once his business here was done, a business that more often than not also included an uninterrupted session of the horizontal tango, he could still be out and about, getting at least a mildly interesting brawl out of the drunkards, when they came to stalking the city streets.

Walking towards the exit, Wren made sure he kept to the walls of the cantina, one eye always on the wrap-around vision of his HUD. The bucket made him even more conspicuous, but then, he already stood out like a glittering gundark in his armor. Though his kit had seen combat and was nowhere near as nice and shiny as that of the rookies, it was still the cleanest thing in the entire cantina and even the dim, smoke-filled air, couldn't change the fact that he was a tall man dressed entirely in white plastoid. So helmet or no, it really didn't make much of a difference. And besides, the bucket made it a lot easier to watch his back. Like now...

Wren stopped in his tracks and, without looking behind him, brought up his right fist and threw the bishwag trying to "sneak" up on him an offhand backhand. The guy went down like a sack of topatos, the empty bottle in his hand crashing to the floor and shattering. The cheap synth music coming from the banged up music machine halted as everyone turned to gape at him. Wren swept them with a single gaze, knowing that the blank expression of his bucket would do far more to discourage any other would-be assailants than spoken threats. Most of the patrons flinched and hurriedly turned back to their drinks. Some glared daggers at him, but no one approached or even spoke. No, the Human civvies of Gaftikar were not fond of clones, but then, Wren wasn't particularly fond of them either. Cowards, the lot of them; having to drink their courage and even then only able to attack someone from behind. Feeling his good mood from his time with the redhead already slipping away, Wren sneered at the crowd from behind his bucket and left the cantina.

Just as his boot stepped over the Tanked Mynock's threshold, a small icon in the corner of his HUD began to flash; an incoming message. Wren rolled his eyes, already guessing what this was about and blinked at the icon, opening the comm channel.

"CT-20-4371, do you copy?"

"This is Sergeant Wren, I copy," he answered, not stopping on his way towards the city centre. The cantina where he'd sought his bit of relaxation was located on the edge of the Eyat spaceport and only a quick unirail ride away from the government building where he was supposed to report for duty.

"Commander Gaff requests a status update, sir,"

For a moment, Wren toyed with the idea of saying something appropriately insinuating as to his current _status, _but decided that it was a waste of a good slur. The shiny wouldn't understand it anyway, the poor barve. So he settled for his usual caustic.

"Tell the Commander to stop getting his effing pauldron in a twist. He'll get the karking sitrep when there's something to actually report on. Over." And he closed the channel before the other clone could do more than make astounded gasping noises.

_Oh, I hope Gaff was there to listen to all that, _he thought, his good mood once more reasserting itself. He could just imagine the uppity commander, standing behind the communications station, trying and failing to keep his composure.

If there was one thing Wren loved besides a good fight and some good sex, it was pushing a commanding officer to the point of apoplexy. And so far, he'd gotten two out of three.

Something glinted in the bright sunshine at the edge of his peripheral vision and Wren turned to see what it was. Someone was moving on the path parallel to his, taking the footpath that led past the unrail station, which was his goal. He craned his neck slightly, wondering what it was his HUD's wrap-around vision had picked up. There. Between the low buildings, mostly abandoned, that separated the two paths, Wren caught a quick glimpse of long, flowing hair; what looked like pale blond and...blue?

The figure disappeared behind another building and out of Wren's sight. He considered going after it, but decided he wasn't that curios. Besides, if he didn't get to the Assembly House soon, Gaff was sure to throw another one of his hissy fits. While that was amusing on occasion, Wren'd already had enough of them for the week. He dismissed the figure out his mind. It couldn't have been important anyways.

Moving through the crowd that was making its way towards the terminal for the unirail and not caring in the least if he rammed someone, Wren made his way towards the city centre. His mind turned back to the coming speech, as he considered the security parameters that had been set in place, the strategy for ground control. Maybe, he'd get his fight after all. With the way things were going at the moment, the Humans and Marits of Eyat were almost as eager for a confrontation as he was.

Well, the day was young still and a clone could hope. And there was always night patrol.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I've posted two chapters today for the benefit of my most wonderful readers, as well as to soothe my own conscience. I'll be in London for the next few days and will therefore miss my usual Monday posting. I will also be incommunicado until I get back on the 22nd.

Cheers!


	5. Chapter 4: First Meetings

**Author's Note: **The song is "4ever" by _The Veronicas. _The two people Ro quotes are Oscar Wilde and Albert Einstein respectively. I own none of this.

* * *

**First Meetings **

"_Beware, so long as you live, of judging men by their outward appearance." _

_- Jean de La Fontaine_

* * *

_Market Square, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Eyat was a strange place. Looking about her curiously, Ro could see that the city must have once been a very nice one. None of the architecture had the more exotic charm of Ansion, where buildings were influenced as much by the nomadic traditions of the locals, as by the various immigrated species. But Ro could see evidence of meticulous care in the setting up of the parks and the buildings that spoke of a town, whose citizens took pride in their ordered appearance.

Or, at least they used to, anyway.

Nearly two months had passed since the Battle of Gaftikar and as far as Ro could see, most of the capitol was still in ruins. In-between houses and shops that had escaped the destructive violence of the fighting, Ro saw streets littered with rubble, buildings that were either burned out shells or had walls missing. Most of the parks she passed by on her way to the market sported rather large craters in-between the carefully arranged flowerbeds and stands of trees. It was an oddly disjointed picture: a mixture of clean, middle-class citizenry and a torn-up war zone.

The grey and black of destroyed houses, streets and monuments was off-set by unexpected flashes of color from a bright piece of cloth hung out to dry or a few scattered flowers. The people themselves reflected the city around them. Most of them showed signs of strain from the battle; haunted eyes that glanced at her in quick, furtive movements when she passed by. Most of the clothes the Humans wore were covered in the dust of crushed and slagged permacrete that seemed to blanket most of the city in thin layers, making them appear like washed-out ghosts. The Marits's beige scales made them blend into their surroundings almost seamlessly as well. It made it difficult for Ro to follow the movements of individuals. Her eyes simply slid off of single beings, unable to find anything to capture their attention, making the scenes around her appear not as a continuous, fluid film, but rather as single still-shots that came one after the other, like someone flipping through a stack of old, flat 2-D pictures.

The town must have once been a bustling place to live, but now, it was like a place outside of time. Eyat had become suspended in that void of post-battle existence.

In preparation for coming here, the Jedi Temple had forwarded to her the official battle report, as a means of giving her a full picture of the situation she'd be dealing with. So as she walked through the streets, Ro compared the rather clinical, dry-cut report to the physical evidence around her. As the capitol, as well as the only city to host a spaceport and a large comm station, Eyat had been deemed a first priority target. In fact, as far as Ro had been able to discern, the capitol was the only city on Gaftikar to have seen GAR soldiers. The other cities - towns, really - had been bombed by fighters in passing, if at all. But Eyat had been subjugated to not only orbital bombardment, but also the full power of two battalions: the third and fifth battalion of the 35th infantry. Seeing the place with her own eyes now, Ro could only shake her head at the waste of it all. Even with its high, encompassing walls, Ro couldn't believe that Eyat had been enough of a challenge to warrant all that firepower.

The Republic was engaged in battles all across the Outer and Mid Rim, with forces stretched dangerously thin, yet the Chancellor had authorized these many resources to be wasted on a planet that had neither strategic value nor any other vital assets.

_This much overkill and for what? _She wondered, watching briefly as a group of children played hide and seek in one of the many small parks dotting the city, agilely jumping over the smaller craters. Their laughter was the only bit of brightness in the area, aside from the sun still shining from high above. _Just to stop a potential civil war between two species? To deny the Separatists a planet they're not even really interested in? _Was it all about territory, she wondered? But it would certainly explain how this place could have birthed a serial bomber. This much destruction and the enforced cohabitation between the two species was a fertile breeding ground for massive amounts of resentment and grudges.

_Speaking of grudges. _Ro watched as a group of Marits hurried past her, loaded down with building materials and tools. The lizards were watched by the resentful eyes of a group of young Human males, idly lounging against the wall of a closed and boarded-up tapcaf. If the physical appearance of the city was a juxtaposition, then the emotional atmosphere of the place was downright incompatible. Despite the general appearance of destruction and neglect, Ro found groups of Marits busily at work to restore the city and removing the battle damages, everywhere she looked. To Ro, they felt _satisfied, content, _if not downright _happy. _In a strange way, the Marits were enjoying themselves, despite the dismal appearance of their surroundings. They were working and rejoicing in the activity. And impressively organized to boot. With deep admiration, Ro observed a group of ten Marits assembling a scaffolding around a damaged house in record time. As soon as the structure was stable, the first two lizards were already up and about, beginning to mark the areas in need of immediate repair. They were vastly efficient and delighted in that efficiency.

The Human population of Eyat appeared to be a completely different story. Unlike the bustling Marits, the Humans were organized into small groups of idlers, hanging around street corners and against buildings. Most of the younger crowds were playing gambling games, while the elders appeared to be in deep discussions for the most part. Children ran through the streets in unruly packs, with little to no supervision, as far as Ro could discern. Those who did move about between the streets did so in quick movements, with their heads down and eyes fixed on the pitted permacrete. It seemed that, although the Martis had built Eyat, the Humans had come to reflect the city's state. There was a neglected, forsaken feel to these people that felt like the permacrete dust catching on Ro's long lashes. Even those Humans hurrying along to complete some sort of chore carried with them the feeling of being _lost, idle._

_Don't they have jobs? _She wondered. _I know the battle wasn't that long ago, but shouldn't they at least try to restore some normality to their lives? _Ro rounded a corner to come face-to-face with a ten-man – or lizard – cleaning crew. The Marits were busily gathering up the rubble that had previously been swept into neat piles along the side of the street. Ro watched in interest as the Marits formed an orderly line of workers that handed small pieces of rubble from one lizard to the next until it was dumped into a waiting repulsor truck. Another two Marits were operating a repulsor lift, with which they were transporting the larger pieces. Practically in the middle of this operation was a group of maybe twelve Humans, all Ro's age or a little older. Instead of offering to help, they were squatting against the side of a building, idly rolling some dice, while occasionally throwing resentful stares at the industrious Marits.

Ro had to bite her lip to keep from saying something smart, but inwardly, she could only shake her head in bewilderment. _They resent the Martis, that much is clear. But at the same time, they're willing to let them do all the work and dislike them even more for doing it. I don't get these people. _

It wasn't until she finally reached Market Square that Ro saw Humans at work.

Market Square wasn't really a square. It was a very large, oval shaped space, surrounded by two and three-tiered houses that must have belonged to Eyat's more well-to-do residents. The street level floors were shops, most of them selling foodstuffs of one kind or another. Stalls were scattered everywhere in the lively chaos that defined marketplaces on planets throughout the galaxy. Free-selling vendors like Ro herself, were stationed throughout the place in whatever available space there was. Ro was almost glad to see the bustling, jostling, shouting crowds around her. This place at least felt alive, rather than like an overexposed print. There was color here as well, originating from the various goods being offered.

_And only a handful of Marits in sight. _This was the first place Ro had seen in Eyat that was predominantly Human and their disposition was very different than that of the idle groups in the rest of the city. Here, the people felt more like the Marits, _happy _and _content _in what they were doing. _So, the Marits build and the Humans sell. Now, if only they could combine their talents, they'd be an economic force to be reckoned with. _But judging by the rift she'd felt during her little ramble through town, that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

Ro idly wandered through the market, keeping an eye on the people as well as being on the lookout for a good spot to set up. This was obviously a preferred meeting place for many people and there were lively engagements as well as bartering going on. Most of what was on sale was more produce, but from time to time, Ro saw a small stall offering cloth or a few other pretty trinkets. She finally reached a fountain, almost at the dead center of the oval and decided this was the place for her to set up. There was already a fruit stand on one side and a man selling a variety of roasted nuts on the other, but Ro had more than enough space to spread the small, woven rug she used to display her wares. Arranging each piece of jewelry to her liking, Ro slipped the quetarra from her shoulder, dropped her gunnysack to the side and took a seat on the rim of the shallow basin that surrounded the fountain. She began playing with the eight strings, occasionally adjusting their tuning, while keeping an eye on the surrounding crowd.

This was why she had come to Eyat; why she had walked, rather than taking the unirail. She needed to get a sense of her surroundings, to know what was normal for this city and what was not. Her walk had given her time to observe and study from a careful distance, like a connoisseur of wines carefully inspecting the color of the wine offered to him, before taking his first, tentative sips. Ro had looked and found the color pale, almost none existent. Now it was time to take a sip, to see if the taste would be as bland as the sights. And for that, she needed to be closer to the people, to get them to open up to her in the Force.

_Time to stop looking and start luring, _she thought. She struck up a more forceful note on her quetarra, searching for the right melody that would bring the people to her like bees to a flower. For a few minutes, her fingers danced almost aimlessly across the strings. The aimlessness turned into the beginnings of a tune and with a smile, Ro closed her eyes and fell into her meditative breathing. Slowly, bit-by-bit, she sent her awareness outwards, through the Force, allowing her empathic abilities to expand along with the rhythm of the music.

* * *

_The central plaza in front of Assembly House, the government block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

"Sergeant there's…ehm...a disturbance developing at the market?" The shiny told him.

"Was that a question?" Wren bit back. Silence from the rookie.

Wren hissed into his helmet's internal comlink, sending a burst of static at the trooper, Fince. These shinies were going to cost him his last nerves. "And what, pray tell, constitutes "ehm…a disturbance"? Didn't your trainers teach you how to make a proper kriffing report or did that get effing shorted in your training as well?"

More silence over the comms. From his place at the second perimeter line, Wren couldn't actually see Fince, but he knew from experience that the shiny was probably jiggling one leg a little in nervousness. _Like a bunch of fragging nuna, the lot of them, _he thought impatiently.

"Private," he growled through the comm.

There was an audible swallow, then Notch, Fince's eternal partner spoke up. "Sir, there's a large crowd gathering at the fountain at Market Square. Might be a possible source of unrest. They are…uh…pretty animated."

Wren was about to ask the two privates why, if they thought it was such a threat, they didn't just break it up, and put enough acid behind the words to peel the paint off a larty, when Commander Gaff joined the conversation.

"Sergeant, go back up Privates Fince and Notch. Investigate the matter and report back to me. And watch your language when speaking over the company channels."

Wren slowly twisted his neck until he heard the bones pop, then turned around to face the commander. Commander Gaff and a squad of nine other clones was stationed on the dais in front of the Assembly House; Eyat's central government building. As the first defensive perimeter line, they were responsible for the immediate security of the governing council and leader Cebz, once they came out to the dais for Cebz's speech. Wren, busy checking the positions of the twenty troopers at the second perimeter, stationed at the edge of the central plaza in front of the Assembly House, didn't even need the zoom capabilities of his HUD to know the commander was fidgeting and trying to hide it. This was the first major address Cebz would give, since her inaugural speech. And that hadn't gone over very well with most of the Human population. Since then, tensions and resentment had only risen and Gaff was convinced that something was bound to happen today.

Wren certainly hoped so. It would relieve the tedium of this assignment.

"Sergeant," the commander intoned, the word holding an edge of warning in it.

Wren decided not to push the issue. He might not be the best of soldiers, but he knew when to delay a confrontation. Pick your battles; that had been a hard-earned lesson, but one he had taken to heart since.

"Yessir." But that didn't mean he couldn't answer his CO with the laziest drawl he had in his repertoire.

_If I'm lucky, that poodoo bomber will make an appearance and get this whole kriffing speech canceled. _Well, a clone could dream.

Wren made his way through the gathering crowds towards the third perimeter line, where Fince and Notch were waiting for him; his armor and general bearing ensuring him easy passage. People took one look at the two crimson lightning bolts on his helmet and his general body language and moved out of his way. Or else they got a taste of plastoid.

Although the speech was scheduled to begin in an hour, people were already beginning to gather in small groups. While the Human half of the population might be less than enthusiastic about a planetary leader who happened to be luggage on legs, these bombings and the general economic state of the planet had enough of them spooked that they wanted to hear some kind of reassurance, no matter the shape of the lips from which it came.

Only three blocks separated the Assembly House and the central plaza from the main market, which was why the edge of the oval Market Square had been designated as the third perimeter line. A lot of the streets from the town led to the market, which in turn ran into the central plaza. It was a good way to establish an overview of the crowds that were expected today.

Fince and Notch were waiting for him at the main road. Air and landspeeder traffic had been restricted in these areas since early morning, and had been completely forbidden for the past two hours. So there was no oncoming traffic to worry about, and the troopers on security duty could take up the most optimal positions without worrying about being run over. A real danger around here, given the general disposition of the populace. A flash of white had come to be the equivalent of a green traffic holo: hit the gas and don't look back.

Reaching the two shinies, Wren put his hands on his hips and regarded the two troopers through his helmet.

"Alright you two, what's got your feathers ruffled this time?"

"At the fountain, sir," and Notch gestured towards the north, where Wren knew a small, round fountain was located near the middle of the market. "As you can see, there's quite a crowd forming."

Wren looked and indeed, there was a crowd of maybe thirty or more people gathered around one spot at the fountain, in-between what looked like a fruit stand and a nut seller. It was a mixed bunch, he noted with some interested, both Humans and Marits.

"Should we call for reinforcements, sir?" Fince asked him. "To break things up?"

For a moment, Wren did nothing but look from one trooper to the next. Then, without a word, he smacked them both upside the helmet.

"Would you two, for kripes sake, at least once use those brain cells for more than just panicking?" He asked, feeling utterly exasperated. "Those are civvies, you chuff-sucking boltbrains. We do not," and he practically ground out the words, "shoot the civvies, scare the civvies or scatter the civvies to the four winds, just because they lounge around. In case you two haven't noticed, they tend to do that."

He brought one gauntleted hand up to his face, briefly wishing he could take the bucket off and pinch the bridge of his nose. Dang, he'd left a sexy and willing redhead in bed for this? The galaxy _really_ hated him.

Fince was still rubbing the back of his head. "So, how should we proceed, sir?"

Was this how parents felt like, he wondered. Grabbing the two shinies by the shoulders, he forcefully propelled them forward.

"What else, you dimwits? We check it out. And for fek's sake, keep your weapons holstered!" he added, seeing Notch reach for his blaster, like a kid reaching for his security blanket.

He saw he was going to have to handle this, because the closer they got to the group, the slower and more uncertain Fince's and Notch's steps became. Wren sighed and felt himself caught between irritation and pity. These shinies were even worse than normal recruits. It wasn't just that they'd been shorted five months of training. They were infantry soldiers. For the past ten years, their world had been all about line formations and squads, about using the terrain for an attack, when to go on the offensive and when to dig in. Expecting them to act as planetary security was ridiculous. They didn't have the first clue about cities or civvies. The closest they had was urban battle training and that hardly applied to Gaftikar. The civvies disturbed them, if not downright frightened them. They were strange, chaotic and unpredictable in comparison to other clones and the battle droids. And the general hostility the clones were met with on Gaftikar did not help the matter. The Gaftikari, or the Human half at least, treated the clones as their enemies, yet things never actually escalated to the point of open warfare. Anyone could be a potential threat one day and an innocent bystander the next. There were no real signs to identify the enemy, no obvious distinctions as flesh and blood vs. battle droids. And that was all these shinies really understood. They were waiting for the starting shot and their nerves were getting frazzed during the waiting.

_And they're frazzing me right along with them, _he thought sourly. _Frag. _

By the time they had made their weaving way through the chaotic arrangement of stands and had reached the fountain, Fince and Notch had fallen back to flank Wren. Wren cast the two a dismissive glance and decided to forego the warning to stay in the background. Neither Fince nor Notch appeared eager to get anywhere within ten feet of the crowd. And it was a strange crowd, by Gaftikar standards, anyway. There was the sound of the usual bartering and shouting going on in the back and this lot was talking in low tones as well. But they were all oddly happy. Wren hadn't seen this many relaxed faces since the victory celebration on Qiilura, when most of the locals and quite a few clones had gotten drunk after booting the Seps off the planet.

And there was music. Real, _live _music. Wren hadn't heard anything but synth since before Qiilura, when a civvie cook working on Kaliida Shoals had taken pity on some of the men in intensive care and started belting out some tune about a Twi'lek dancer and a Dantooine nerf herder.

So despite himself, his boots came to a standstill and Wren remained at the edge of the crowd for a little while longer, listening to the sound of some instrument he couldn't identify. And there was a singer; a female with a high and clear voice that carried through the crowd surrounding her.

"_Here we are so what you gonna do?_

_Do I gotta spell it out for you?_

_I can see that you got other plans for tonight,_

_But I don't really care." _

Shaking his head - he wasn't here to gawk - Wren shouldered his way into the small gathering until he was standing directly in front of the singer. People about to protest his rather rough treatment took one look at his armor and shut up, as well as clearing a space around him. Their shifting afforded him an obstructed view of the figure at the centre of the commotion.

The woman, or girl rather, was Human and sitting cross-legged on the wide lip of the fountain. The music was coming from some kind of stringed, wooden instrument roughly in the shape of a figure eight, with a long neck. The main body sat in the girl's lap, while one of her hands moved quickly over the strings strung across the body. The other hand was positioned at the top of the instrument's neck. Wren watched for a moment, seeing that the instrument had eight strings in all, which was three more than the girl had fingers. That would account for the rapidity at which her fingers moved and for the fact that, as far as Wren could tell, she only played the instrument with a passing amount of ability. Before her was a small, square rug, with a number of decorative items arranged on it.

But she was the most colorful creature he had ever come across.

The girl tilted her head at him as she caught sight of his armored form in front of the crowd. A mass of very pale blond hair shifted over her shoulder. The movement caused the electric blue zigzag lines streaking through the pale mass of hair to catch the light, making them gleam. _Blond and blue, _he realized. She must have been the figure he'd seen walking towards the city earlier that morning.

The girl smiled at him as she sang; an expression that seemed utterly happy, content and just a bit mischievous.

"_Size me up, you know I beat the best._

_Tick tock no time to rest._

_Let them say what they're gonna say,_

_But tonight, I just don't really care."_

Wren found he just had to study her, mustering her carefully from top to bottom. Her crazy hair was ridiculously long, only kept at bay by a very brightly colored strip of cloth that she'd somehow tied over her head. Still, a set of the most unruly bangs he had ever seen constantly fell into her eyes. The rest of her was just as bad. She wore a tunic of a slightly darker shade of green, with a pale lilac jacket. Her pants were blue and looked relatively normal, except she had done something to the bottom half of the legs. Just below the knees, the material ended in tassels, decorated with small beads of all shades. The overall effect was…well, like looking at a paint spillage. _Where does someone like her come from? _he wondered.

"_C'mon baby, we ain't gonna live for ever, _

_Let me show you all the things that we could do," _

She hit a sour note or maybe pulled the wrong string on her instrument, but her face, which was small and oval shaped, pulled such a comic grimace that the people around her began to laugh. She laughed with them.

The girl paused in her song to talk with a Marit who was busily inspecting a thick circlet, etched with some geometric designs. She leaned forward a little to demonstrate how the circlet could be fitted either over the Marit's forearm or over his tail and her hair shifted again, giving Wren a better look at her face.

She had a small, round chin and a button of a nose that turned up slightly at the tip. Pretty, Wren thought rather dispassionately, but not his type of female. He preferred his women tall and beautiful and far better _equipped _than this rather scrawny girl. Still, she had full lips that might be enjoyable and from were he was standing, her skin looked smooth and soft. And he supposed that some might find the delicate and slim nature of her features attractive.

The Marit seemed satisfied with the circlet and handed over some credits. But he didn't leave. Instead, the lizard hung around, watching as the girl took up her instrument again and once more started to play. Her eyes swept the crowd as she sang and for the first time, Wren noticed they were an unusual shade of teal. It seemed everything about this girl was bursting with color. It made her stick out in drab Eyat like a pink gundark on Umbara.

"_Let me take you on the ride of your life,_

_That's what I said, alright. _

_They can say what they wanna say, _

_But tonight, I just don't even care." _

She had a very pretty voice, he had to give her that. And beneath his helmet, he found his lips kicking up into a smile. Interesting choice of lyrics. Then he felt a prickle run along the back of his neck and he checked his HUD to find a Human male staring at him.

Wren turned around, startling the man.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped out.

The man jumped, then quickly scurried off. It was like the breaking of a spell. As if only now becoming consciously aware of the presence of a soldier in their midst, the other people around him began shifting, edging away from him as if he were giving off a static charge. A few even left the crowd altogether.

Looking about him, Wren realized he was now inside of a bubble of empty space, surrounding him and the girl. When he turned towards her, he found her strange eyes fixed on him, an amused look on her face. She'd stopped singing.

"See something you like?" he asked her, not sure if he should be annoyed at her scrutiny.

Amusement turned into a full-on smile, which seemed to light up her whole face. "I think that's supposed to be my line," she said. Then she cocked her head at him, still smiling. "Do I at least get a name from the man who is chasing off my customers; dooming me both to poverty and inarticulation?"

Wren found himself raising an eyebrow at her, though of course, she couldn't see that because of the helmet. Did she actually talk like that?

"Wren," he told her, then added, "Sergeant Wren," because civvies never could tell a fleet admiral from a topato peeler.

Her face became positively radiant at that. "A fellow aviphile," she exclaimed in excitement. "Tell me Wren, do you fly as well as your name suggests? I like your plumage," and she made a broad gesture towards the olive green piping of his rank insignia and the two crimson lightning bolts that ran down the sides of his bucket.

"You should see my talons," he told her acidly and put a hand on the butt of his blaster, his temper flaring. When he had adopted his nickname, he'd honestly had no idea that it was the name of a small songbird. It hadn't exactly crossed his mind to check what the word meant, as he'd held a fellow trooper and friend in his arms during his final moments. Thrush had been dying when he'd tried to speak his friend's nickname, which at the time had been 'Wrench', but his last breath had only lasted long enough for the first four letters. Wren had adopted the bastardization of his first nickname and had since then had little patience with those who'd thought to make fun of it. And to add insult to injury, this little Human girl wasn't even intimidated by his threat display. Instead, her eyes only grew wider in what he could only define as joy. She clapped her hands together in obvious enthusiasm, the instrument in her lap tipping dangerously forwards until stopped by a strap around one of her thin shoulders.

"A player in the great game of conversation," she said and she somehow managed to bounce a little, while still seated cross-legged on the fountain rim. ""The bond of all companionship, whether in marriage or in friendship, is conversation, and conversation must have a common basis"," she intoned, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. ""And between two people of widely different culture the only common basis possible is the lowest level"." Then she cocked her head at him, smile still in place, her expression expectant.

Wren found himself rather thankful for his bucket at that moment, because he was pretty much staring at her, as blank as a shiny's armor. "Any recent history of head trauma?" he finally asked.

The girl's face fell. "Oh, no," said. "You were being such a smart cookie up till now. Don't stop, you can still score some points." She abruptly bent to the side, peeking past him and the thinning crowd surrounding them, towards Fince and Notch. "Would your friends like to play?"

He was about to tell her very firmly that they were not his friends and no, they were not going to play whatever she thought she was playing, when his comlink beeped. Wren blinked at it, opening the channel.

"Sergeant Wren, report," came Gaff's voice. "What's the situation at the market?"

"No situation," Wren said. "Just some whacked trader and her musical number."

A pause, then, "Repeat?"

Wren sighed. Kriff, did no one here have a sense of humor? Without thinking, he looked back down at the girl who was still peering up at him from beneath her bangs in interest. Well, she seemed to have a sense of humor, though its source and nature was yet to be determined. Personally, he thought she was kriffing insane.

"Everything is under control. Case Green," he said, giving the military code for all clear.

"Copy that, Sergeant. Return to your post. Over." The channel clicked closed.

Wren turned back to the two troopers, still standing a few paces behind him. The crowd of onlookers had, by now, more or less dispersed completely. Nothing like armor and blasters to kill the mood.

"Alright noobs, fun's over," he told them. "Back to work. And I swear, if you call in another wandering minstrel I'll krink you both so hard, your blasters will be black and blue."

At least they had enough sense to jump when you barked at them. Fince and Notch gave him two perfectly synchronized salutes and quickly scurried back to their posts, double-timing it for good measure.

"That was nicely done," the girl said and Wren turned his attention back to her. She was still bent slightly to one side, watching the retreating backs of Fince and Notch. "You guys must have a stellar synchro swim team."

"You're a few starships short of a fleet, aren't you?" he asked her.

She laughed and he was beginning to get irritated again. Didn't anything intimidate her?

""A question that sometimes drives me hazy"," she said in a singsong voice, ""am I or are the others crazy?""

"You," he told her without hesitation. "Most definitely you."

Without another backwards glance, he began to walk back to his post.

"Until we meet again, cookie!" She called after him.

That stopped him dead in his tracks. Slowly, thunderously, he turned back towards the girl, who was grinning at him like a loon. Of all the fekking indignities...

"What. Did you. Call me?" He asked her carefully, the words brittle with tension.

Her eyes gleamed with wicked humor. "Cookie," she said, without missing a bit. "And you shall remain cookie to wit, until such a time when and how you, dear sir, have regained the right to be called a smart cookie by scoring points infinitude in this game we play," and she actually managed to bow a little over her instrument. "This great game of conversation." And she winked at him. Actually. Kriffing. Winked at him.

Rendered speechless for one of the few times in his life, Wren simply stared at her. She was insane. Utterly, completely, stanging off of her stabilizers.

"Don't ever call me that again," he finally ground out.

She shook her head, still smiling. "Sorry, that doesn't count. A reply like that only earns you half a point at best." She waggled her finger at him. "C'mon cookie, surely you can do better than that."

He took a threatening step towards her, teeth grinding. She was pushing it; really pushing it. And that was not a smart thing to do with him.

"I thought I just krinking told you..." his comlink beeped. Glancing down at the flashing icon in his HUD, Wren cursed and opened the channel.

"Sergeant." It was Gaff again and he sounded prissy. Of course. This day just couldn't get any worse. "Report to your duty station immediately. Cebz and the ruling council are ready to begin." There was a threatening note to the commander's voice that promised hours of dull flimsi work if Wren did not comply.

Wren's eyes flicked from the icon to the still grinning little nuisance and he felt torn between annoyances. _Deal with Gaff first, _Wren thought to himself. _Chances are you'll never see her again, anyway. _

"I'm on my way," he told Gaff, his voice sharp. He closed the link before the commander had the chance to sign-off officially. _One down, another to go. _Wren turned his attention back to the girl.

"Stay away from me, _cheeka_," he told her. "I'm not so nice on closer inspection." He leaned towards her, using the advantage of his height as an added means of intimidation. "And never call me 'cookie' again, or we'll find out if you can run better than you play that instrument."

He walked away from her, his angry strides a disparity to her bright laughter, following him.

Chizk, she was a happy one. Hopefully, this would be the last time their paths crossed.


	6. Chapter 5: Proper Introductions

**Proper Introductions**

"_A mob's always made up of people, no matter what." _

_- Harper Lee, _To Kill A Mockingbird

* * *

_The central plaza in front of Assembly House, the government block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

When Cbez and the leading council finally mounted the dais, Wren was more than ready for this entire thing to be over. Security detail was a harrowing mix of boring and suspense. Eight times out of ten, nothing happened and you were left to stand around like an armed idiot. The other two times things got dangerously out of control and you were left standing to be overrun like an armed idiot. And you never really knew which scenario might play out this day. Crowds could be volatile and unpredictable under the best of circumstances and these were not, by anyones definition, the best kriffing circumstances.

The Gaftikari were scared; Wren could see it in the way they stood together in small groups, darting quick glances left and right. He heard it in the nervous whispers of the crowd. Marits and Humans alike were uncertain about what would happen to them, now that the cohabitation had been enforced. They didn't know whether or not their planet would become another battlefield for the Republic and the Separatists to fight over. There were doubts about their economic state and general standing within the Republic. And to add to their greater, galactic worries, they now had a bomber who was terrorizing them on the home front and both sides were ready to point fingers and shift the blame. It was an ugly situation and Wren hoped to hell that the boss lizard, Cebz, could come up with a few inspirational words. He was itching for a proper fight, but that did not mean he wanted to get stuck in the middle of a effing headless crowd.

_Speaking of headless. _Wren glanced around to check the position of the troopers along the second perimeter line for what must have been the sixth time in one hour. The general security plan Gaff had come up with had been that, with the establishment of three different defensive lines at strategic locations, the expected crowd could be broken up into more manageable proportions and contained, should something happen. Wren had had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that it was not the worst plan the rookie commander could have come up with. But if there was one thing his time on the battlefields had taught him, it was that plans were the first to go out the exhaust port once things got started. And this was looking to be one of those days.

Satisfied that the troopers under his supervision were in place and, at least on the outside, displaying a proper amount of calm and self-assurance, Wren swept the plaza once more.

_Fekking kriff, this is a lot more people than we thought, _he realized. The plaza was full, nearly two thousand people jammed into the place like a bunch of nerfs in the slaughtering pens. And he had twenty troopers to oversee them, plus Gaff and his squad of nine and the twenty troopers of the third perimeter line. And the second perimeter was jammed in between the people in the plaza and the people that were gathering in the side streets. Fek it.

Wren walked the perimeter again, trying to rid himself of some of the nervous energy building in him. He didn't like this; didn't like the set-up, didn't like the masses and sure as hell didn't like the odds that were beginning to stack up against them.

The garrison on Eyat was made up of a single company of clones, 165 men in all...well, 166 counting himself. But only half of them were stationed at the Eyat Command Base. The others had been deployed at the Shenio Mining headquarters, near the Senet river, almost a full day's ride away by speeder. The mining company had quite vocally refused to give up any of its protection detail for this day and the Senate had endorsed the decision. Shenio Mining had experienced some minor cases of vandalism and threats since they had established their operations on Gaftikar and like most civvies, had panicked and developed a good case of paranoia against the locals ever since. And since the Senate had basically started the Battle of Gaftikar as a favor for Shenio, they could not withdraw their support from the company without risking severe censure. So Commander Gaff's request to transfer troopers that were actually already under his command had been solidly denied. Besides, so the Senate, the eighty-three troopers of Eyat Base should suffice to handle any situation that might develop with the help of the local law enforcers.

But the Senate hadn't considered that the base needed a minimum of fifteen clones to operate the various defensive and monitoring sensors. And just because Cebz wanted to give a speech in the middle of a tinderbox, did not mean that the clones could simply pull out all the stops for her. Eyat Base had been erected as planetary security and the clones's first priority was to act as the first line of defence against a possible attack from the outside. Which meant they had to keep a continuous presence at Gaftikar's only spaceport as well. In light of his diverging responsibilities, Gaff had had to make some tough choices. The Assembly House had been given top priority and he'd had to leave the base crewed, but not guarded. One squad was at the spaceport, where there should have been two and another squad of ten was patrolling outside of Eyat's walls, a job that actually required something approaching platoon strength. Wren seriously wondered if the kriffing brainbolted _koochoos _at GAR Logistics had ever actually been on a battlefield. The troopers on Gaftikar were dangerously stretched thin on all fronts and as Wren swept the crowd, he could only spot about a third of the promised police reinforcements.

_The boys in red are playing again, _he thought sourly. _And they picked a damned bad day for it. _At times like these, Wren cursed the chuff-brained commandos who had managed to kill a cop during the initial recce of the city, before the Battle of Gaftikar had kicked off. Since then, the local police force had unanimously labeled all clones their personal enemies and did their best to make life in Eyat as difficult for them as possible.

There was a sudden murmur going through the crowd and Wren turned back to the dais, watching as Cebz, along with the rest of the council, mounted the dais in that curious bobbing walk the Marits adopted. The other twelve council members, most of them Marits as well, took seats behind the low podium. To Wren's surprise the stork-like, angular frame of Luddmilla Lucara was among them. _What's she doing here? _He wondered.

Lucara was the CEO and local overseer for the Shenio Mining branch based on Gaftikar. The woman rarely left her office, as far as Wren knew and for several reasons. One, she seemed to consider the rather rural settings of Gaftikar far beneath her and two, she was quite possibly the only other creature on the planet with a public image even worse than that of the clones. The locals hated her and not just the Humans this time, though they certainly took first place. Shenio Mining wasn't just the main reason that the Republic had become involved in Gaftikar's politics. They had also unceremoniously taken over the entire mining industry, which was the only real industry the planet had had in the first place. And instead of employing any of the locals, most of whom had immigrated to Gaftikar for the purpose of mining the bountiful mineral deposits, they used droids for about 97% of their operations. And the few wets that did work at Shenio had all been flown in from other systems when the company had settled here. Even the Marits, who had initially promised Shenio access to the deposits, were beginning to be dissatisfied by the company's monopoly of the only really profitable natural resource to be had.

Around Wren, people began to mutter angrily as they caught sight of Lucara and the tension in the air ratcheted up a few more notches. She really didn't belong here. Shenio was a corporation, not a member of the governing body. Wren didn't claim to be an expert on politics, but he understood that for Lucara to sit with the rest of Gaftikar's duly elected officials bespoke of an arrogance that even he wouldn't have pulled off. And she was adding fuel to what was already a volatile situation. Looking about him, Wren could see that individual groups were shifting, coming even more closely together, further hemming each other in and making movement for the troopers difficult. Some of the Marits were hissing to each other in their sibilant tongue, while the Humans shot glares at the primly seated Lucara. This was starting to look really ugly. Wren couldn't believe he was actually thinking this, but right now, he really, really hoped that Cebz would give the speech of a lifetime.

The boss lizard herself, her scaly head swinging this way and that as she took in the crowd, walked up to the podium as if oblivious of the general anxiety and hostility that permeated the plaza. Outwardly, she appeared utterly calm and composed, not even glancing at the buzzing cam droids that were darting about the dais like mosquitoes. But then, you never really could tell with Marits. They were such calculated creatures that they reminded Wren uncomfortably of the Kaminoans.

Gaff and his squad streamed outwards behind Cebz, taking up a permanent station behind and to the side of the planetary ruling council and Lucara. With a single, fluid motion, the troopers on the dais came to attention; arms surreptitiously crossed behind their backs and their blasters holstered. Gaff had decided that this would be a less threatening pose, than leaving the men with their blasters resting against their shoulders. In contrast, the troopers stationed on the ground had their blasters cradled in their arms, ready for action. Gaff hadn't liked that at first, but Wren had simply overruled him. The second and third perimeter lines was going to be in the thick of the crowd; the psychological effect of seeing the troopers with their blasters at the ready would be one more little advantage to capitalize on. Seeing the mass of unhappy people surrounding him now, Wren felt validated for his decision, even as the skin on the back of his neck began to tingle and his blood began to dump the first loads of adrenaline into his system. He paced across the perimeter line, head swivelling this way and that. Like the rest of the crowd, he kept a good portion of his attention on Cebz. It mostly came down to her now.

In the manner of most reptilian species, Cebz froze for a moment, her entire body going unnatural still, before beginning her speech.

"Marits are the majority," she began, he words a clipped, precise cadence, like the numerical output of a humanoid calculator.

Wren sighed. _Frak__. _

"As such, we have sought a governmental representation that reflects our numerical superiority."

The crowd began to stir, restless; the Marits listened attentively, bobbing their heads from time to time in agreement, but the Humans were beginning to shift nervously.

"Perimeter two and three," Wren called over his bucket's interior comm, making sure his external speakers were securely offline. "Make sure all blasters are set to stun. This might turn into a rumble."

"We did this not for power in itself, but as a matter of due course," Cebz continued, apparently unperturbed by the steady buzz of noise the crowd was creating. "Similarly, we built these cities not merely as a means of fulfilling a contract, but as a means of establishing viable lives for ourselves and our families."

Some of the Humans were beginning to look appeased and Wren thought that, maybe, this could end at least halfway calmly.

"As we have built them, so we will rebuild them. The Marits are the majority and so it is our duty to shoulder the majority of the responsibility of the workforce and I promise that the repairs to Eyat and the surrounding towns are proceeding in the most efficient and timely manner. In…"

"That's the least you can do!" A voice shouted across the plaza.

Wren's head jerked towards the sound, as did the heads of a good number of watchers and the council.

The man, - Human, in his mid-forties, with a dusty, grey jacket – shook his fist in the direction of Cebz. "It's your fault our homes were destroyed in the first place! You brought the Republic into this! You brought the war to Gaftikar!" Wren zoomed in on the man and felt his jaw tighten in anger. He knew that bishwag. He let loose a whole string of curses in every language he knew. Avnen Kezner, that was all they needed. Wren began to move, shouting orders at his troopers.

"Mekk, Ezec," Wren called through the secure comm channel, "shut him up and get him the kriff out of here."

An agitated was spreading through the crowd now and people were craning their necks to see the shouter.

Mekk and Ezec, the two troopers closest to Kezner, moved in, but it was already too late. Someone else, a woman – also Human – took up the cry.

"You brought the war!" She screamed, her face red in outrage. "My husband died in the HoloNet center! It's your fault!"

More people were talking now, all at once and the chant, _"Your fault! Your fault!" _was spreading.

"And the bomber!" cried another man. "When are you going to do something about the bomber? Or does he have to kill someone on purpose, first?"

Wren was pushing through the crowd now, not caring if he stepped on feet or tails.

"And what's _she _doing here?" someone else shouted, pointing in outrage at Lucara. "Shenio's not part of the council! We don't want her here! We don't want _Shenio _here!"

The shouted chant of _"Shenio out! Shenio out!" _now joined with _"You fault!" _

Wren commed Gaff as the noise level around him began to rise.

"Commander, get the council out of here, now!" His HUD blinked at him in warning, showing Wren several more unwelcome and familiar faces in the crowd of Gaftikari.

Gaff, already moving into position, took a moment to find Wren in the now restlessly stirring and shouting crowd.

"Sergeant, get…"

"We got GFH, here," Wren interrupted the commander.

Gaff didn't reply. He sprinted towards Cebz, while the other nine troopers of the first perimeter surrounded the rest of the ruling council and Lucara, all of whom were already inching nervously away from the edge of the dais and the crowd. They moved just in time. Gaff reached Cebz only a few seconds before the first of the rocks was thrown.

The Gaftikar for Humans movement was composed of some of the most fanatic Humans Wren had ever encountered and he'd thought he'd seen the worst of them on Jabiim. And their founder and leader, Avnen Kezner, was the worst of the lot. Wren had no idea how the man had managed to sneak onto the plaza. Every trooper on Gaftikar knew his face after all, after he had staged a massive protest during the landing of the company, which had necessitated the deployment of teargas after the protesters started attacking the debarking troopers.

_Probably just walked right in, _he thought, blood beginning to pound in his ears as the familiar buzz of anger started up in his head. _Hiding in plain sight with his thermal buddies. _

More rocks flew towards the dais. Cebz, half-hidden behind Gaff was hissing, her red neck-frill turning crimson at the threatening crowd.

Wren was only a few meters away from Kezner, who was still yelling like a spiced-up loon, fighting off both Ezec and Mekk, who were trying to haul him through the teeming throng. Then the angry shouting of the crowd turned into a full-out roar. Wren turned his head slightly and saw a Marit and a Human brawling on the plaza. The Marit's head darted forward without warning, the man yelped in pain and the Marit's muzzle suddenly had blood on it.

In the split-second of absolute silence that followed, Wren had time to utter one last, heartfelt curse and then it all went to hell in a hand basket.

"Kark."

The fuse to the powder keg they'd been sitting on had finally been lit.

* * *

_Market Square, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Ro was in the process of packing up her gunnysack when the first ripples of unease reached her. Looking up from her task, she eyed the surrounding marketplace curiously. It was beginning on late afternoon, but the marketplace was already mostly closed down. The roasted nut seller had explained to her that Planetary Leader Cebz had scheduled a big speech for today, so most of the shops and businesses were closing early. That had interested Ro. She had wanted to see how the planet's politicians handled the obvious emotional friction that was permeating the atmosphere and which made Ro feel like she was being cuddled by two static-charged tooka cats. But she had been delayed by a small family, who had been interested in several of her pieces, so by the time she was packing up, most of the stalls around here were already closed.

But the unease persisted. Ro bit her lip as she concentrated on the sensation. It was sharp, like a spice pepper with a razor blade in it. Ro recognized the sensation as the unique mixture of _anxiety, rage, fear, anticipation _and _glee. _Ro's teal eyes narrowed. She'd encountered _that _particular emotional mix only twice before, on Rattatak and on Kabal. Neither situation had ended well.

Ro tied the gunnysack closed, swung her quetarra over her shoulder, then retrieved her two lightsabers from the side pocket she'd stowed them in earlier. She weighed them in her hand for a moment, running her fingers over the hilts. The hilt design was one called Guardian: a plain, straightforward hilt style, which ended in a wide emitter shroud that gave her two lightsabers the look of daggers when deactivated. Ro ran her thumbs over the activation panels, which sported two, minuscule carvings. One was that of a squall in mid jump. The other was a small bird, wings outstretched in flight. Those sabers were a testament to her strengths, but also of where she had come from and where she was going. They were also her watershed; that fine line between the protector she wanted to be and the warrior she sometimes had to be. They were hers; her life. And if she was reading the emotional turmoil in the Force correctly, she might need them soon.

_Looks like I'll have to blow my cover sooner than I thought. _

Clipping both lightsabers to her belt, Ro took another look around the marketplace, trying to pinpoint the source of the disturbance. Her actual sensing range was no more than a few hundred meters, but emotions in the Force were like a scent on the wind. They could travel for miles and all she had to do was put her mental nose to the wind and breathe deeply to catch hold of emotions far out of her range. She did so now, opening herself to the Force, letting the emotional tapestry of this city brush against her awareness.

There was a sensation across her skin, like feathers brushing against her in the wind. One touched her cheek with the gentlest of nudges.

_There!_ Straight ahead, in the direction that group of really interesting clone troopers had come from earlier that day. Ro flinched. In the direction of the government buildings. _Yikes._ Grabbing hold of her gunnysack, Ro sprinted towards the emotional turmoil, feeling it grow and sharpen. She was only a block away when a wave of such combined _rage _and _fear _swept over her, she nearly staggered backwards, as if from a physical blow. She no longer needed the Force to direct her either. With a sinking feeling, she realized she could _hear _the mayhem she was feeling through the Force.

"Mynock muffins," she cursed and continued onward. When she rounded the next block, she was greeted by the sight of a few hundred people; some streaming away from the government block, others running towards it. There was shouting, crying and not a few of the people, Marits and Humans, sported various injuries. _Pain, _was a steady dull throb in her temples and eye sockets. The crowd mostly obscured her view, but she thought she saw flashes of white in-between the moving masses. Ro had to wonder if her smart cookie was currently in the middle of all that.

Well, she wasn't going to get through this way and she wasn't about to waste time trying the other streets. Ro glanced around, shoved her quetarra and gunnysack under a stack of timbers and then vaulted onto the roof of a parked landspeeder. From there, she jumped towards a clothesline, strung between two second-story windows. Grabbing the clothesline, she used the momentum of her swing to create an arc, flexing as agilely as a feline until she was on top of the line. Ro waited a few precious seconds for the line to stop swinging, then confidently raced across it. A born acrobat and not just because of her Force abilities, Ro had no trouble keeping her balance on the precariously thin line. Reaching the end, she jumped to the side and landed on the balcony next to the window, from which the line had been strung. Ro clambered onto the balcony railing, reached up to the railing of the balcony above her and swung herself to the third story of the apartment house. She could hear people exclaiming at her sudden appearance from inside, but Ro ignored them for the moment. From here, she had a perfect view to the government block and the central plaza. The sight was not a pretty one.

The entire plaza was nothing more than a moving mass of tangled bodies, people jammed into the tight place; clawing, scratching, punching and just generally fighting each other in a mindless display of violence. A thin white cloud hung over certain areas of the plaza and Ro recognized the signs of gas grenades. Probably teargas, which would explain some of the puffy faces she'd seen escaping the violence. Here and there she saw short blue bursts of plasma. _I hope those are stun rounds, _she thought. Pure cacophony came from the plaza, both in noise and in what she gleamed from the Force.

Ro stamped her foot in frustration. There was nothing she could here with the Force. Ro was a naturally strong Force-empath and had used her abilities on more than one occasion as a means of crowd control; emanating soothing, neutral emotions to counteract negative and hostile feelings. But this was no longer a simple matter of an agitated crowd. The scales had clearly tipped and the people below were now a mob in full riot-mode.

While she might be a strong empath, Ro knew from experience that trying to influence a crowd of this size in this state would be like trying to beat down a durasteel wall with your fists. Rattatak and Kabal had shown her that. These people were caught up in a mob's mentality, reduced to nothing more than blind reaction and caught in a senseless cycle of aggression and violence. Nor would getting closer help. She'd tried it on Rattatak, had been swept up in the crowd itself on Kabal. Once a riot got started, you either had to wait and let it run itself out, or…

"Or give them a good smack to the forehead," she muttered. "Why do adults always insist on squabbling like two-year-olds?"

Pushing back the sleeve of her lilac jacket, Ro spoke into her wrist-mounted comlink. "Artee, I need you to get the _Mockingbird _to the central plaza, over the Assembly House." Even as she spoke, Ro could see two small groups of white-armored figures trying to stem the tide of combatants. They were caught right in the middle of the mindless crowd. In one of those small dollops of white amidst the chaotic swell of sentients, Ro could glimpse just the barest hint of crimson on a helmet. Her smart cookie.

"And make it ASAP," she told her astromech. "Also, get me a direct line to the troopers' comm. We need to warn them."

Artee whistled agreement, but voiced his apprehensions about hacking into a secure comm line. And what, he wondered, should he and the _Mockingbird _do once they were at the plaza and what did she want to warn the clones about?

Ro smiled grimly and with just a bit of mischief. Glancing up at the cloudless blue sky, she answered, "That it looks like rain."

* * *

_The central plaza in front of Assembly House, the government block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

In the words of SpecOps, things were getting really cute out here. Wren had to duck and weave around flailing bodies, some of which had snapping jaws and whipping tails. On his way to Kezner, he'd been pretty much cut off from any of the other clones when the crowd had turned into a crinking riot. Stones and other trash whipped through the air, but his armor at least protected him from what worry. Even before the upgrade, the plastoid plates had been more than able to stand up to such crude missiles. And the locals didn't have anything more sophisticated than knives and, in the case of the police, stun batons. Demilitarization had been at the top of F Company's agenda upon landing dirtside and surrounded by about two-thousand civvies more than happy to taste his blood, Wren could actually appreciate the foresight of that tedious order.

And on another upside….

Wren tapped the still shouting Kezner on the shoulder. The man turned halfway in his direction, his face alight in obvious glee at the chaos he had caused.

Wren slammed one armored fist into the man's face. Kezner screamed, clapped his hands to his bleeding and swelling face and started to sag. Wren caught him by the shirt, pulled him back up, then followed the punch with an equally armored knee to the man's stomach. Kezner gasped, retched and then went limp.

_Just be glad I kept my vibroblade sheathed, _Wren thought and let the unconscious man drop to the ground. He neither had the time nor the patience to haul dead weight from the teeming plaza. _Let him get trampled, _he thought viciously. _Serves the dweezer right. _Wren turned away from the unconscious form without a second thought. He had more important things to concern himself with. Like stopping that knife-wielding earworm coming straight at him.

The idiot was stabbing at him like a spastic bug, shouting obscenities. _Amateur, _he thought derisively and grabbed the wrist holding the knife. The man's eyes went even wider and Wren allowed himself a small smile behind his bucket.

"A tip for next time," he told the man, keeping his voice pleasant. "The true knife-fighter knows to slash instead of stab." With that, Wren did a quick twist with his hand, snapping the man's wrist. The man screamed and dropped the blade. Wren pulled the man towards him, then bent his knees, slamming his shoulder into the man's midsection while propelling him over his body at the same time. Knife-man landed, screaming and flailing, on top of a three-way brawl between two Humans, a woman and a man, and a Marit. All four ended up stunned on the ground, Knife-man lying on top of all three. With him out of the way, Wren turned towards his next opponent.

He always enjoyed a good fight, but he'd had tavern brawls that had tested him more. These were civvies and they were half out of their minds. Wren dealt with those who came at him easily, but even he knew that eventually, skills or no, the crowd could overrun him by virtue of sheer numbers. If being a regular trooper had taught him anything, it was that skills meant Sithspit in the face of a numerically superior force. You could hold out for a while, sure, but sooner or later, you would be swarmed. And right now, the troopers were outnumbered about fifty to one.

"Man down! Man down!" came the sudden shout over his comlink.

Wren turned towards the sound, saw Mekk desperately trying to pull Ezec back up on his feet, while firing stun shots at the seething crowd around him.

"Fun's over," he muttered and fought his way towards the two troopers.

"Mekk!" He called over the comlink. "Teargas, now!"

Wren saw Mekk's helmeted head swivel towards his position, but the rookie was too preoccupied with keeping a firm grip on Ezec, while keeping the riot at bay with his blaster to reach into his belt pouch for the gas grenades. It was Ezec, half-kneeing on the ground, with one leg pinned beneath him, who released the teargas. The people around the two clones screamed, no longer in anger so much as in pain, as the gas invaded nasal passages and irritated sensitive eyes.

Wren kept working towards the two troopers, knowing that the gas would only buy them a few seconds of reprieve before the crowd turned against them, doubly incensed for the attack. He thrust an elbow into the space where tail met body, causing the Marit before him to squeal and stagger away. The Human woman the Marit had been fighting turned towards him. He didn't bother dodging her weak punch. The plastoid of his Phase II absorbed the force and the woman lurched back, cradling her now broken hand. A few more jabs and punches later and he reached out an arm, hauled Ezec back up on his feet, then pushed the obviously injured trooper behind him. Mekk took up a guard position beside him, his DC-15S now in both hands and started to really lay into the crowd. A direct hit form a stun bolt was enough to cause most people to drop. And in as dense a crowd as this, one shot usually winged about a dozen more, which was generally enough to return most people to their senses.

Wren didn't draw his own blaster. He preferred hand-to-hand combat and besides, the crowd was too dense for the Deece to be really effective. _Riot gear, _he thought, as one armored boot came down on a man's instep, while the flat palm of his hand thrust upwards, below the jaws of a Marit, forcing the teeth to click shut on the lizard's tongue. _We're supposed to be frakking planetary pest control and nobody upstairs thought to issue us one stinking, effing riot shield. _

"Second perimeter!" he called through the comm. "Split up even. Back-to-back. Give these buggers a chance to disperse!"

If there was one good thing about shinies, it was that they obeyed. The twenty men from the second perimeter line split up into two groups of ten, each group forming a small circle of troopers standing back-to-back with each other. A passageway opened up between the two groups, an escape route for those who'd had enough of the fighting and a means for the jammed up crowd to spread a bit more through the city. It might spread the riot through the rest of Eyat, but at least it would keep the danger of being trampled down. Looking about, Wren could already see a few still figures lying on the ground, their limbs twisted. Wren clicked his teeth and gave the order for more teargas. With a way out, the crowd was more likely to flee the gas than turn on the troopers who'd released it.

"Third perimeter!" came Gaff's voice over the comm. "Help the injured and disperse those crowds. Keep your helmet vids running. We'll deal with offenders later."

Wren managed to raise one sardonic eyebrow. Well, well. It seemed the noob commander was finally getting his priorities straight. Wren twisted about in the act of fighting off the crowd to catch a glimpse of the dais and of the men of the first perimeter. People were trying to storm the dais, as well as the steps of the Assembly House. Gaff and his men had taken up positions behind the colonnade, using the row of columns of the portico as cover. They were quickly and methodically laying into the rioters with stun rounds, then dragging the bodies off to the side if they could. Efficient, he had to give the man that.

But it wouldn't be enough. Wren might never have been caught in a riot, but he'd seen plenty of people in a blood rush. Hell, he'd been in a blood rush more than once. Once you got into that state, you only stopped fighting when someone knocked you out or shot you between the eyes. And the troopers were badly outnumbered. Despite their best efforts, Wren and his circle of troops could not free themselves of the press of bodies.

_Okay, this was fun, but it's time to get pro-active. _Wren delivered a resounding roundhouse kick to a Marit, then used his HUD to get a better idea of where they were. Both groups of troopers had been continuously pressed away from the center of the plaza and towards the surrounding government buildings. _Not good, _he thought. _Caught between permacrete and a hard place. We'll be flatted like effing pancakes. _His eyes traveled up the walls of the buildings. _Or maybe…_

"Everyone, move back! Retreat to the buildings!"

Ezec, in the middle of the protective circle, limping badly and cradling one broken arm, turned towards him. "But, sir, we'll be trapped."

"A shiny who thinks he can think," Wren drawled, while fighting the screaming crowd. "Will wonders never cease?" He turned towards Ezec, risking turning his back on the mad crowd for a few precious moments. He turned his outer mic to full. "Kriffing do it!" he roared.

The other shinies scrambled, their small circle trying to fight its way towards the walls. There was shouting over the comm channels, someone screaming. Wren saw a man from the other group go down, another trooper trying to reach for him and getting bowled over by the crowd in the process.

_Kriff! _Wren opened a channel towards the group, about to say something, when suddenly there was a burst of static that made him flinch. Then another voice came through his helmet's comlink; female, with a hint of laughter behind the words.

_Can't be, _he thought.

"Just a word of warning," the female, who could not possibly be the nutter from the market, said. "You might wanna turn duck, cause it's about to get real wet."

Wren didn't have time to reply, because the next thing he heard was the sound of a ship's engines.

For a clone, there were only two types of starships: those of the GAR and those of the enemy. Wren knew the sound of every single starship engine the GAR had, from the comforting drone of the larty, to the sharp whistle of the fighters. Those caused a trooper's body to sag either in relief or to release more adrenaline for a final surge under covering fire. The sound of any other starship caused only one reaction: drop and shoot.

Wren, along with every other trooper at the plaza, fell to one knee and raised his rifle towards the sound of the strange ship's engines. The shape that came into view wasn't recognizable as any particular ship, though it looked like a hunting hawk on the prowl to Wren. The pilot was practically skimming the roofs of the surrounding buildings. Wren took aim, looking straight at the ship…and then a torrent of water rained down on him.

The shouting of the crowd turned into surprised shrieks as the combatants were thoroughly doused. Wren's armor protected him from the worst of it, but the sensors in his HUD told him that the water was quite cold, almost freezing.

He was lucky that he'd already fallen to a kneeling position, because otherwise, the weight of the water would have pressed him down flat. Many of the Gaftikari had been thrown to the ground, where they lay sprawled and spluttering, drenched to the skin. Some were trying to get up, only to slip on the wet cobbles. No one was in the mood to fight anymore.

Wren got up, taking in the scene. It was still bedlam, but a far more subdued bedlam. The other troopers were rising as well.

"What just happened?" Mekk asked, looking about him in bewilderment.

At the entrance to the central plaza, Wren could see a small figure making its way through the prostrate crowd. He didn't have to zoom in on the figure to know it was his babbling minstrel. Even from a few meters away, her colorful attire was easy to spot.

She came towards them, easily dodging large puddles, sprawling bodies and the few people that had managed to stagger to their feet. There was a smile on her face and Wren could swear there was a skip – _a kriffing skip _– to her steps.

"Hiya boys," she said to the assembled troopers, then slanted a cocky glance at him from beneath her bangs. "And so we meet again. I think it was meant to be, cookie. Did you like your shower?"

Kark, she was small. Wren hadn't been able to tell at first; it was hard guessing someone's height when they were sitting down. But now that she was standing right in front of him, he saw that she didn't even reach his shoulder. _No taller than 5'5, I'd guess. _But size had never been a deterrent for his temper.

Still hyped on the adrenaline of the riot, Wren leaned towards her, snarling through his helmet's external speakers. "What the fek did you think you were doing? What kind of spice-addled brain comes up with the idea of half-drowning people? Who the stang do you karking think you are, _cheeka_?"

The girl leaned her head back slightly, tilting it to the left and watching him like he was a very interesting holo. Her pale blond hair caught the sunlight, the electric blue zigzag lines running through it glinting. Then, as if something had only now occurred to her, she snapped her fingers together.

"Oh, that's right," she said and ran one hand through her mass of hair. She came up with a thin braid, threaded through with a multicolored thread and attached to some kind of charm, triangular shaped with rounded corners. The smile on her face widened. "I'm the Jedi you asked for. Jedi Padawan Roweena Arhen. Call me Ro. I'm here to help."

"You've got to be fragging kidding me," was all Wren could come up with in response. He stared at the thin bit of braid. This couldn't be happening. There was no way the fekking universe could hate him that stanging much.

The girl grinned. "Usually? Yes. Right now? No. Now," her face took on a mock-serious cast and she waved one hand slowly in front of his visor. "Take me to your leader."

Behind him, Ezec groaned, either with the pain of his injuries or simply at the madness of this entire bizarre scene. "We're doomed," he muttered quietly over the squad's private comm channel.

Wren couldn't have agreed more.


	7. Chapter 6: Enforced Harmony

**Enforced Harmony**

"_We may have all come on different ships, but we're in the same boat now." _

_- Martin Luther King Jr._

* * *

_Office of Planetary Leader Cebz, the Assembly House, the government block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

The day he had graduated had been one of the proudest moments in Gaff's still relatively short life. He had been at the top of his command class and when the Kaminoan supervisor had handed him his armor – real battle armor, not the training variant he had been using up till then - he had not been surprised, but truly gratified to see the yellow markings denoting his rank as a clone commander.

He had earned that color. For ten years he had spent practically every waking moment learning about various infantry formations, memorizing battlefield tactics and strategies, learning about the differences between commanding a battle from space and a battle fought on the ground. He had even completed a three-month ARC training regime under ARC Captain Alpha-17. So although he had been shorted on five months of his training and his graduation ceremony had been reduced to the barest of formalities, Gaff had felt he was ready for anything the war could throw at him. Kamino had prepared him most thoroughly.

Except, no one had ever taught him how to deal with a group of very angry politicians, who were trying to blame him for an operation that had gone very badly, very quickly.

"Why were your men unable to control that rabble, Commander?" The Minister of Health asked him, her long nose so close to his face, Gaff almost went cross-eyed. It was at moments like these that Gaff wished protocol did not require him to take off his bucket when meeting with high-ranking civilian officials.

"Minister, as I repeatedly pointed out during the meetings…"

"The better question would be," the Marit overseeing the planet's finances interrupted, "is how the agitators could infiltrate what was supposed to be a controlled environment." The Marit's neck-frill flared at Gaff in an obvious threat display. "I thought you had identified the relevant members of the GFH? Why did you not arrest them prior to today?"

"As I've explained before, arrests do not fall into my jurisdiction. That would be the job of the local police…"

"Don't try and blame this fiasco on me and my men," Commissioner Gor'Dan interrupted, the ends of his moustache quivering in outrage. "We've been stretched thin since the start and neither you or the Republic are any help. I've had some good people get injured trying to stop the riot _you _said," and he pointed one meaty finger at Gaff, "you and your men could keep from happening."

"What I said," Gaff tried to defend himself, "was that with the right support, the situation could be…"

"And it seems to me," the commissioner continued, simply shouting over Gaff, "that every time you shiny boys get involved, more of _my _officers get injured." He thumped his red-clad chest with an emphatic fist.

Gaff wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. It was true that so far the combined efforts of the Gaftikar police and GAR soldiers had ended more or less in physical injuries, but he felt that the fault lay more on the side of the police than of the clones. After all, it was the police that kept putting its people at a disadvantage by sending far less officers out than they had initially promised, thereby exposing their people to more threats without sufficient backup. Gaff himself had to fight against being constantly understaffed, but at least he never sent out his men to patrol the streets alone. But how to say that without causing a veritable explosion from the temperamental commissioner?

"And those awful things they said about me," Lucara complained, her thin, angular face set in an aggrieved pose that darkened with fury in the next instant. "I will have you know, Commander, that I plan on sending a full report of this disgraceful affair to the Supreme Chancellor himself."

Gaff forced himself not to wince. This could not get any worse. But of course it did.

"And I demand an immediate increase in security at our HQ," the head of Shenio Mining continued. "You might not have the foresight to see a developing threat," and she sniffed haughtily at Gaff, "but I do and I plan to take it seriously."

Gaff forced his face to remain polite and attentive, when all he wanted to do was hide it in his hands in exasperation. More security? Where did she expect him to get more troopers for an increase in security? The Shenio Mining HQ at the Senet river already had half of his company acting as security, when really, three squads would have been more than adequate for the job.

"Madame Director," Gaff tried to protest as respectfully as he could, "I think you may be overreacting to what was a simple expression of frustr..."

"Overreacting!" She practically shrieked at him. "That mob nearly killed me!"

Well, no, actually they hadn't, because she and the leading counsel had been securely back in the Assembly House in the first minute of the riot. He and his men had seen to that. The rioters had nearly killed _him _and _his _men, but Gaff had learned by now that pointing out that fact would get him nowhere. In the words of one of his old training sergeants, he and his men were "acceptable collateral damage". Civilians expected clones to die. It was their duty. Civilians only ever seemed to get outraged when clones failed to get injured or killed in such a way that would least inconvenience their daily routines. But again, that wasn't something he could just come out and say. Not in this company at least.

"Perhaps," the Minister of Transportation put in, "you should consider reassessing your strategy in protecting us, Commander." The man glared. "Or maybe a reassignment."

Gaff was saved from having to answer that rather hurtful comment by the most unlikely sound he could have imagined. Music.

Slowly, everyone in the office turned towards the source of the sound. It was a Human girl, leaning casually against a table, a stringed instrument Gaff didn't recognize held in front of her.

Gaff gazed at her, awed. He'd never seen anyone like her before. There was so much color on her. Her clothes, her shoes, even her hair blazed with vibrant colors that drew the eye. After a lifetime of Kamino's white walls, the orderly color-coded rank designations of the troopers and two months of Eyat's grey and lifeless appearance, this much color on a single person was overwhelming to Gaff. And yet...and yet...He didn't know. He lacked the words to adequately describe his reaction, but he found he couldn't look away from her.

And she was so..._tiny. _The instrument almost dwarfed her torso, but she held it with an easy confidence that reminded Gaff of the way a trooper would hold his favorite blaster; casually, with a familiarity that spoke of expertise and long hours of practice. His eyes were drawn to the fingers as they glided smoothly across the instrument's eight strings, producing that warm, mellow melody. Those fingers were long and slender and so delicate, Gaff was sure they would break if he'd try to touch them. Actually, he thought that might apply to the rest of her as well. From the long, pale blond hair down to the toes peeking out from her sandals, the girl looked as fine-boned and fragile as a small bird. In comparison, Gaff felt huge and rather clumsy.

And then she began to sing.

It wasn't words that came from her lips, he was pretty sure of that. Rather, they were crooning noises; so soft, he had to lean forwards to hear them. A distant part of his brain noticed that Lucara, Cebz, Gor'Dan and the rest of the ruling counsel were doing the same. They had all gone quiet and to Gaff, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to stand there quietly and listen to this strange girl sing and play. The music was beautiful after all.

Gaff looked back at her small, oval face, saw that her eyes had half-closed, as if she were on the verge of falling asleep and he felt a deep sense of calm and peace wash over him. It didn't appear strange at all to him, to suddenly feel that way when just minutes before he'd been agitated and at his wits end.

He was feeling like he used to feel on Kamino at the end of a good exercise, when he had just issued his final command and he knew, simply _knew, _that everything would be all right now; that he'd done his best and his best had been enough. He welcomed that feeling, opened himself to it with relief and joy. It was good to feel that way again; to just, for a few moments, not have to fret and worry about all the things that could go wrong the next day or the next hour.

And all the while he kept his eyes on this mysterious, tiny, delicate, colorful girl. He had no idea where she'd come from, how she'd gotten into the office or why she was here in the first place and he didn't care. He'd never before heard more beautiful music. And she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

* * *

_A few minutes earlier..._

After issuing a whole string of curses in such a wide of variety of languages that even Ro had been impressed and barking orders at the rest of the troopers like an irritated ursa, fresh from his hibernation sleep, Wren had taken Ro inside of the Assembly House. Clearly he hadn't liked Ro's idea of dumping a shipload of water on the rioters and the troopers, never mind that it had probably saved a lot of lives. Well, he could take it up with Artee. Her little astromech hadn't liked draining the _Mockingbird's _water supply either.

But that was for later. For right now, Ro was standing in the entrance to Planetary Leader Cebz's office, her clone escort behind her, and studying the scene before her. Or rather, she was studying the _people _before her and she had to admit, she didn't like what she saw. One look at the assembled officials in Cebz's office and Ro found herself thanking the Force that she'd retrieved her quetarra before following Sergeant Wren into the Assembly House.

_Goodness grief, they're as bad as the crowd outside was. _And they were apparently all piling in on a rather bewildered looking clone in white armor with bright yellow stripes on his legs, arms and the rim of his chest plate.

The clone felt to Ro like he looked: at his wits end and simply trying to defend himself from hostile fire. His brown eyes were wide, trying to look at all of the gathered officials at once. His hands were half raised before him, in a gesture of defense as well as in appeal, while the officials around him were firing one accusation after the other at him.

The entire scene vexed her to the extreme. _Okay, enough is enough. One against thirteen is way beyond not fair. _

"And if they won't play fair, then neither will I," she said aloud, though only her smart-cookie-sergeant was close enough to hear her.

Stepping resolutely into the office, Ro slung her quetarra from her back, propped herself against a table and began to play.

The Force worked in many and mysterious ways. Although it was a life-giving energy that flowed through every living creature in the galaxy, it manifested and expressed itself to every individual differently. For example, there were those Jedi who felt closest to the Force when in deep and solitary meditation. For Ro, the Force spoke strongest to her and through her, when she was connected to music. It never mattered whether she was dancing, playing or singing; when music was involved, the Force simply gripped her and carried her away. In those moments, it felt like she could achieve anything she set her mind to, if only she was willing to let herself be guided.

So when her hands fell to the Zabraki guitar, Ro had no particular tune in mind. She only had a goal, to bring calmness and peace to this room full of _suspicion _and _anger_, to bring harmony where there was discord.

She let her eyes fall halfway closed, sinking deeply into the Force and let her fingers skim over the strings. What came out was a tune so soft it was practically drowned by the shouting voices. Ro didn't try to increase the volume. She merely continued to play, letting the notes carry softly through the office on the tides of the Force, as they swirled agitatedly about the other sentients. As she played, the knowledge of where she had heard this melody before came to her, as gentle as a feather landing on the surface of a still pond. It was a Wookiee lullaby, reserved to calm the smallest of infants. In the deepest recesses of her mind, Ro found a small smile tucked away. A lullaby for babies; how appropriate. She did so love the Force's whimsical sense of humor.

As calm settled over her, Ro projected the emotion outward through the Force, towards the arguing group. Some had already turned around at the sound of her melody, but when her empathic powers reached them, the group almost as one fell silent and turned their full attention to her.

When she felt that they were focused solely on her, Ro added her own voice to the melody; a soft, wordless song consisting of croons and trills. Around her, she could feel the Force's influence deepening, gaining strength, as if her voice was an amplifier for its influence.

This never would have worked with the riot outside. There, there had been too many people, too caught up in the repetitive loop of negative feelings a mob fed on. But such a small group, in so confined a space, Ro could handle. Particularly, because beneath all of their anger and their frustration, these people craved order and the peace that order brought. They were government officials, leaders, and chaos such as what had happened outside went against their basic nature and desires. Chaos created dissatisfaction among the voters, so on some level, all politicians wanted peace and harmony, if only as a means of collecting more votes.

Through half-lowered lashes, Ro saw the Marits begin to sway a little from side to side in time to her melody. The Humans of the group relaxed, their expressions taking on peaceful casts. A long-nosed woman was hugging herself just a little, a small, grateful smile on her lips. The clone, she noted, simply looked transfixed, staring at her as if she were the first of some rare and mysterious species. But he was letting the calm she was projecting towards him wash over him with a feeling that was refreshingly welcoming.

The only one who was resisting was Wren. Ro didn't look at him, still standing more or less in the doorway to the office, but she could feel him. He was…different. She could feel her calm wash against his own emotions, soothing the ripples she felt in them. But her influence did not pass further than his surface emotions. Beneath that, she could just detect a complex tapestry of emotions, all of which were overlaid by a crackling, lightning like field of passionate, deep-seated anger. As deeply merged within the Force as she was at that moment, Ro could tell that this was a man of intense, passionate feelings and governed by a very sharp intellect. Ro could practically feel how he was aware of what she was doing and simply _allowing _her to do it, but keeping her away from his innermost feelings, effectively controlling her influence over him.

That was…surprising. She'd met Jedi Knights with less control and weaker shields. She would have liked to explore this interesting man more closely, but the Force drew her attention back to the task at hand with a tickling sensation across her cheeks and throat, as if someone had lightly drawn three feathers across her skin. The message was clear: _Focus. One thing at a time. Sing now. Sing. _

Ro let her curiosity about Wren slip away, tuning herself solely to her song. Her throat worked to produce the unfamiliar sounds of Shyriiwook. Slowly, Ro brought her song to an end, gently lessening the force of the emotions she was projecting, calling them back like a moon called the tides. It was never a good idea to simply stop and break off the empathic connection one built with a captive audience. The sudden loss of the connection could cause the recipient to become dangerously disoriented, or even worse, could cause a backlash. You had to wean them off carefully.

Ro let the last note drift off into a room that had gone very silent. Not a bad silence, but simply contemplative, like the silence of a meditation chamber back at the Temple.

"Now that I have your attention," she said, keeping her voice low and pleasant, "I would love to have a decent, adult conversation."

"Wh-who are you?" the long-nosed woman asked, her eyes blinking rapidly as if she'd just woken from a very pleasant dream.

Ro smiled at her sweetly. "I'm Jedi Padawan Roweena Arhen," she said, for the second time that day. "I'm here on behalf of the Jedi Temple, to help you find the person responsible for the bombings."

"Commander," the yellow-striped clone exclaimed, all calm fleeing from his face. His stance became rigid as he clicked the heels of his boots together and gave her a very impressive looking salute. "Welcome to Gaftikar, Commander Arhen. Apologies for not meeting you at the spaceport, but I was unaware of your arrival, sir."

"Sir?" Ro asked, thoroughly confused. She looked towards the door, half-thinking her brother Garett might have spontaneously materialized. "I'm sorry, what did you call me?"

Now it was the clone's turn to look confused and Ro felt all her previous work wash away in a flood of _anxiety, apprehension _and more _bewilderment. Goodness, he's high strung, _she thought.

"Excuse me," another Human said, breaking the awkward silence that was developing between Ro and the clone in yellow-striped armor. "But do I understand correctly that the Temple has sent us a-a," he waved at Ro as if in utter perplexity of how to categorize her, "a sixteen-year-old girl Padawan for help? I'm sorry, but where is your Master?"

"Master Altis believes that I can handle the situation," Ro told the man, not at all perturbed by his skepticism. "And I'm nineteen."

The man turned limp, disbelieving eyes on her. "Is that supposed to be reassuring?" he asked, incredulous.

Ro cocked her head to the side, thinking that over. "Well," she said. "Considering what I learned in the years between I was sixteen and nineteen, I think it is. I mean, I no longer cause people to spontaneously burst into tears or make them laugh until they get hiccups. _I _certainly find that reassuring."

Everyone, including the two clones, was staring at her. Ro shrugged. "Of course, you can always call the Temple and say you don't want me around. I'm here strictly on a voluntary basis, so no skin off my neb. However," and she held up her hands, giving the assembled crowd an engaging smile. "I am _here _and the closest Jedi is in the Hynah system getting ready for a campaign, sooo," another shrug, "you're either stuck with me or wait for the next Jedi to come off of the battlefield or pass his Trials. Whatever comes first."

"So either we accept the help of a half-grown Padawan, or we die of old age waiting for real help to arrive," an angular faced woman spat. Ro raised her eyebrows at such vitriol. Either that woman was naturally acidic or Ro's empathic powers weren't what they used to be. Her influence should have lasted a bit longer than this.

"We're doomed," the limp-eyed man muttered, utterly resigned.

Ro's pale eyebrows rose just a tad bit more at that. Did these people even understand the concept of positive thinking? Maybe she should enlighten them.

"There's always a silver lining," she told the man encouragingly. At his questioning gaze, she gave him another of her patented smiles. "The bomber could die of old age first."

There was a snort and a half-choked chuckle from her fellow aviphile, Wren, who was now reclining leisurely against the doorframe, helmet still in place. _At least someone is entertained, _she thought in amusement.

The clone with the yellow stripes, she noticed, threw his fellow trooper a censoring look. Ro felt _irritation _radiating off of him like small prickles of hail.

"Well, I'm happy to see that the Republic finds our predicament to be so amusing," a mustached man in a red uniformed said. "I suppose that, given the Jedi's history of high-handedness, we have you to thank for that waterfall out there?"

Ro had to blink rapidly a few times to draw her attention back to the man's words. She'd been so fascinated in watching the twitchings of his handlebar moustache, she'd almost missed the question.

"That was me," she confirmed. "I asked my astromech to empty my ship's water tanks over the worst of the riot."

The man's scowl deepened, his face turning almost as red as his tunic. "What gave you the right to endanger my officers and the safety of Gaftikar citizens with such a reckless action. You could have seriously injured someone."

Ro struck a few random chords on her quetarra, feeling the rapid decline of the room's atmosphere. The politicians were working themselves into an emotional storm again and Ro wondered if she should try and calm them down again.

_No, _she thought, focusing on the red face of the moustached man. _I'm not here to play at being their personal songbird and it's about time these people started acting according to their rank. _

"Who are you?" She asked politely.

The moustache-man drew himself up to his full height, which caused the beginnings of a belly to strain against his uniform. "I am Gaftikar Police Commissioner Erigden Gor'Dan, if you must know," he eyed her unfavourably and added, "Padawan,_"_ like it was an insult.

Ro nodded. "'Kay then, Commissioner Gor'Dan. The right," she said, adopting the cool tones of her former Master, Jedi Knight Sarika Adriav, "I got from my experiences as a Jedi and from the Force. I've seen riots like this before. I've been caught in the middle of them. I've seen fellow Jedi injured and even killed trying to stop them. And I've learned this: a person is capable of intelligent thinking. People, however, are panicky and generally as capable of higher thinking as a Felucian mud-grub."

There was a sudden stab of _mirth, _originating from Wren, still leaning against the doorframe and Ro saw his helmeted head dip slightly down, as if he were laughing silently.

"And a mob," she continued, privately buoyed by the clone's amusement, "is the worst kind of people. They don't listen to words. They don't listen to reason. Reason doesn't exist in a mob's mentality. Your officers," and she gracefully inclined her head towards the commissioner, "were caught in the middle of a very dangerous situation." She waved one hand towards the two clones in the room. "As were the troopers. They could have been killed in the riot, people were being killed and injured and as a Jedi, it is my duty to preserve all life and to find any means necessary to do so. So I doused the good citizens of Eyat with some cold water to cool their tempers and if some of them should develop a cold as a result of my actions, please feel free to send the doctor's bill to the Temple on Coruscant."

The commissioner's face was now so red, Ro feared he might burst a blood vessel. He radiated an intense _anger, _but Ro could feel that it was not really directed at her, but at the overall situation. _He's feeling helpless, _she realized. _This city is sinking into chaos and he has no idea how to fight it. _

"I don't have to listen to this," he finally said, spitting the words out through gritted teeth. "I have more important things to do than being lectured by some half-grown girl-child." And with that, he stomped out of the room. Or tried to, at least. When he reached the doorway of the office, his progress was halted by the reclining figure of the clone sergeant, who had escorted Ro to the building. Her bird-man was a few inches taller than the commissioner and the helmeted head dipped lazily down to regard the fuming man standing before him.

"Out of my way, clone," Gor'Dan rasped.

At that moment, Ro got a very complicated mix of emotions from the clone with the crimson lightning bolts. On the one hand, she felt hot prickles of _irritation _and _anger _from him at the commissioner's tone and the way he had said "clone". But those emotions were shot through with brighter flashes of _mirth, amusement, mischief _and a lazy sort of _contemplation. _All of this edged in pale shades of _content. Now there's a man that likes to push people, _she thought, utterly fascinated by the tableau.

Taking his time, Wren pushed himself away from the doorframe. Arms still crossed over his chest, he made just enough room for the commissioner to pass through.

"Sir," he drawled, making the word sound like a subtle insult.

The commissioner threw Wren a look as black as an Umbaran night, something that only intensified the trooper's amusement. Failing to get any other reaction out of the clone, Gor'Dan straightened his red tunic and continued his rather dramatic exit from the main office.

_I'll have to talk to him later, _Ro thought. _I can't do this without the cooperation of the police. _Then she swept the remaining faces of the politicians. _But not here and not now. Not when he feels like he has to ward off blame._

"I'm leaving as well," the angularly faced woman announced, as if this were a pronouncement of the greatest importance. "I will not be party to this..." her eyes took in Ro's clothes disdainfully, "this childish mockery of what is a serious threat to my company's business." She swept the office with her pale eyes, her thin lips drawn down in distaste. "I can assure you all that the Supreme Chancellor will hear of this." With a last look of contempt at Ro, she stormed out of Cebz's office as well, her high heels clicking against the floor in an angry tattoo.

There was a brief moment of silence after this final exit, then one of the Marits stepped forward, her head adorned with a red neck-frill, like that of every other Marit here in the office.

"I'm Planetary Leader Cebz," the Marit introduced herself with great dignity.

Now that they were back on official protocol and it seemed that she could expect no more histrionics in the near future, Ro decided to play along in her expected role of contained, mystical Jedi. Not a role she relished, but one she had found useful on occasion, particularly when she wanted people to actually take her seriously.

Carefully placing the quetarra on the table behind her, Ro folded her hands before her and gave a graceful bow to the Marit.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Leader Cebz," she said, keeping her voice pleasant, but using what she thought of as 'the official Jedi tone': polite, but controlled and a little distant. "I am at your service and the service of your people."

Cebz cocked her head at Ro, her red-pupiled eyes taking her in carefully. "I've only met a Jedi once," she told Ro. "When the Republic fleet landed on Gaftikar to build its base. Jedi General Mas Missur seemed quite competent. And from what I hear, that applies to the rest of your Order. It seems logical that you will fit this category as well."

Ro had to think that over, then decided the Marit had just paid her a compliment. She bowed again. "I will certainly do my best. However," and Ro fixed her teal eyes on the assembled government officials. "I will not be able to accomplish my task without your full cooperation."

One of the Marits let out a small hiss, while an elderly Human male with white hair pulled a face.

"I thought the whole point of having a Jedi here," the Marit that had hissed said, "was so that you could take over the investigation and leave us to the business of governing."

"That's precisely what I will do," Ro told her and the rest of the group. "I'm a trained Jedi investigator and have the authorization of the Temple to take over the search for the bomber with the help of the local GAR garrison," and Ro sent a reassuring smile towards the yellow-striped clone. He looked utterly startled for a moment, then quickly caught himself.

"My men and I are at your disposal, of course, Commander," he said. Ro made a mental note to talk to him about that whole "Commander" business. That just sounded so wrong.

"However, while I investigate the bombings, I cannot at the same deal with a hostile and frightened population. I need to know that I can rely on you," and she pointed at the assembled individuals one by one, "to do your duty to your office and the people who elected you into it. I need you to act like the government officials that you are and not a bunch of squabbling, temperamental children in need of a timeout. I'm not," and she raised another eyebrow at them, "your den-mother."

Now it was the long-nosed woman who spoke up. "How dare you talk to us in such a manner, young lady. Jedi or no, you will show the proper respect due our rank and position."

Ro propped her hands on her hips, throwing her head back. Two could play the haughty game. "When I came in here, all of you were shouting and arguing, trying to shift the blame like children with their hands caught in the cookie jar. While outside, people you are responsible for are lying around injured, scared and confused. They are being taken care of by GAR medics and troopers, which is not their job." She cast a quick glance at the two troopers, to see if she'd gotten that right, then continued. "Your police commissioner just threw a hissy fit and stormed off, because he would rather stew in anger than solve the problem at hand. Since the riot started, did any of you issue a single useful order? Did you ask for reinforcements? Did you try to address the people? What about now? It's almost dark outside, the streets are completely empty because the people of Eyat are too scared to go outside and not one of you has so far bothered to schedule a press conference to try and explain the situation and reassure those people sitting at home."

There was some uneasy shifting and even Cebz looked chagrined, the color of her neck-frill slightly paler than before. Ro softened a little, trying to encourage a feeling of _understanding _and _cooperation_.

"I know the cohabitation between the Humans and the Marits has been difficult," she said, not unkindly. "You are two very different species, I can feel that. But right now, you are sharing this planet and its problems and the people are looking to you on how to react. If you show solidarity, then it will go a long ways in pulling this community together."

The eleven officials looked from one to the other. Ro could sense their continued _suspicion _and _reluctance; _to her it felt bright yellow and as acidly sour as biting into a lemon, but she could also feel a general _acceptance _of her words. These people might not like it or each other, but they were starting to see that they needed a change in course.

Cebz spoke first. "I will call a press conference immediately and release a statement that I," she paused, then corrected herself. "That we will write together." And she bobbed her head towards the rest of her colleagues. Then she turned towards the long-nosed woman. "Perhaps, Minister D'Cham, you could take over the care for the wounded?"

The Minister of Health gave a sharp nod. "Yes, I will immediately contact the local hospitals and call in more emergency responders. Perhaps a side note," she suggested hesitantly, "in your speech, telling people that they should come for treatment of wounds, without having to fear persecution. We don't want someone dying of internal injuries, just because he or she is too worried about the consequences to seek treatment."

As the ministers and Cebz fell into a soft discussion on what necessary steps they should take, Ro leaned back against the table, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction spread through her. It was always nice to create harmony when before, there was nothing but discord. While it felt as tentative as the first steps of a novice iceskater, the emotional melody that was beginning to emerge in the room felt soothing and nice. These were people putting aside their differences, concentrating on solving a problem. _That's much better to listen to, _she thought contentedly.

Someone cleared his throat next to her. "Commander?"

Ro looked up at the yellow-striped clone, smiling at him pleasantly. "Ro," she corrected.

"S-sorry," he said.

Her smile widened. He was cute when he got all confused. "Like I told Wren," and she inclined her head towards the trooper, "call me Ro. I prefer that. It rhymes."

For a very long time, the trooper did nothing but stare at her. Ro, still feeling warm and fuzzy from her accomplishment and from the growing atmosphere of cooperation in the room, simply smiled back at him.

Then, as if suddenly becoming aware that he was staring, the trooper twitched and gave her another hasty, though no less crisp, salute. "Commander Ro," he said, "I am CC-8534, Commander Gaff, in charge of the Eyat Command Base. Permission to escort you back to the base and give you a sitrep, sir?"

Ro had to fight down a giggle, not just because of his address of her, but at the terribly earnest look on his face. _Goodness, he's a serious one, isn't he? But first thing first._

Ro leaned slightly forward, then stood up on tiptoe and playfully tapped the startled Commander's nose.

"I think someone needs to get his eyes checked," she chided in a singsong voice. "If you look very closely, you'll see that my physical anatomy is not comparable with that of the male of my species. I'd give you a chance for a closer examination, but that would be entirely inappropriate under the given circumstances."

The Commander's brown eyes went wide at both her words and her actions and Ro was delighted to see just the faintest hint of color rise in his cheeks. "C-commander, I…my apologies, sir…I-I mean Commander. It's only standard protocol and I meant no disrespect, si…I mean, Commander. Clearly, you are female," and his eyes, as if of their own accord, traveled down along her figure. Then horrified at his own actions, his head snapped back up, his cheeks going even redder. "Not that you flaunt your attributes in any way, Commander. Though you could. I mean, I know some females do. I mean…"

"Commander Gaff," Ro interrupted gently. "Permission to shut up."

Gaff's mouth closed with a snap. "Thank you, Commander." He closed his eyes, obviously struggling to gather his wits. "Permission to escort you back to the base?" he asked again, his voice sounding like he was expecting her to run him through with a lightsaber at any moment.

Ro couldn't help a small laugh, which she tried to hide behind one hand. Oh, he was a delight to tease. This would be fun.

"No thank you. It's getting late and I would like to return to my ship to review a few notes." She tilted her head a little to the side, taking a closer look at his face. "I'd suggest you hit the sack early as well," she told him. "You and your men have had quite the day and tired brains think tired thoughts. I'll see tomorrow Gaff, bright and early."

She felt a flare of surprise from him at the usage of his name, but he recovered quickly, straightening his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back. He gave her a very professional nod. "As you wish, Commander. Early tomorrow morning. I'll see you then." And he saluted her again.

_Is that a clone thing, _she wondered, _or does the entire army salute like there's no tomorrow? _She decided to let the 'Commander' thing slip for now. There'd been enough arguing for today and Ro didn't want to ruin the atmosphere of the office by starting in on semantics.

Ro picked up her quetarra and gave Gaff another smile before turning to leave the office. She still had to pick up her gunnysack from its hiding place beneath the lumber before she could get back to the _Mockingbird. _

At the doorway, she stopped to tilt her head back up to look at Sergeant Wren, her bird-man and smart cookie. "Did you have fun today?" she asked him pleasantly.

He tilted his visor down at her in turn and Ro could feel his scrutiny from behind the faceless façade of the helmet.

"Tons," he told her, his voice flat.

She grinned up at him. "Good. 'Cause I like fun."

With that, she made her way out of the Assembly House and into the coming twilight, whistling a song and twirling a little every now and again. Today had been a success, of sorts; she'd met new people and had actually accomplished something. She would enjoy that feeling for now.

Whistling and humming intermittently, Ro made her way through the silent city, deciding on taking a unirail back to the spaceport. The ride would give her time to bask and to plan. She would call Artee and tell him to get dinner started and maybe dig up some Intel for her from the HoloNet about clones and rank. She'd like to get a few things straight in her head before she encountered more troopers and maybe she could find an off-switch for that 'Commander' thing while she was at it.

Ro gave a bright laugh at the thought of her being an officer, earning herself not a few nervous glances from other unirail commuters. "Me in the army, yeah right," she said and laughed again. What a ridiculous image. She'd have to remember to tell Shiv about it in her next comm call to Ansion. The old Shistavanen would get a kick out of it.

Planning, humming and talking out loud to herself, Ro waited for the next unirail to the spaceport, feeling content and not at all dissatisfied with her first day dirtside. So far, she'd stopped a riot, finally met a clone, got to harangue a few politicians and had made a decent killing at the market.

And tomorrow, she would hunt. What more could a girl possibly want?


	8. Chapter 7: Ground Rules

**Ground Rules**

"_Wild animals never kill for sport. Man is the only one to whom the torture and death of his fellow creatures is amusing in itself." _

_- James Anthony Froud _

* * *

He watched the recordings again and again, finding himself nearly convulsing with glee.

The bank of monitors was the only source of light in the dark room, casting a bluish light over everything. They were not the best equipment creds could buy, but The Rational had reminded him that he didn't require better. This was a temporary kill nest, good for what he was doing now, but no more. Once he was finished, he would move on.

**_Besides,_**The Rational whispered to him, **_expensive equipment can be traced far more easily than obsolete monitors. _**

The angle on one screen shifted and his focus shifted with it, his eyes tracking the countless moving bodies wrangling and wriggling against one another. His eyes drifted downwards to what his hands were doing, then back up at another screen. The feed was live, captured by holocams from the local HoloNet channel, sent there originally to record a speech by Cebz. The speech had never taken place and the holocams had recorded footage that, to his mind, was far more satisfying.

The Rational sternly reminded him to keep some of his attention on what his fingers were doing.

He looked down as he slid a partition into place, then back up, just in time to see one holocam zoom close enough to the crowd to pick up a splatter of blood flying through the air, as a rock impacted with the head of a Marit. He howled at the sight. What fun. Too bad he hadn't been there to see it himself.

The thought soured his mood for a moment, but then he brightened as his quick and clever fingers found the containers he needed to fill his present. He began carefully adjusting the right mixture, while his eyes kept flicking from his hands to the monitors.

The setting of screws – a white armored fist to the jaw – the stripping of wires – a woman going down in the crowd – filling a canister with carefully measured amounts of brown powder – peoples faces twisted in hate and fear. A piece of art. A masterpiece by the master's hand.

He hesitated for the first time. His eyes now continuously roamed from one screen to the next. Not a complete masterpiece. Not yet. He hadn't had a chance to work with his preferred medium, but perhaps now?

His tongue darted out and he licked his lips in sudden, salivating hunger. The flickering light of the screens reflected in his eyes.

**_Careful now, _**The Rational intervened. _**That was not part of the deal. **_

He hesitated, looking down at the finished canister. The Rational often interfered with his fun, but he'd learned to heed its advice. Over the years, The Rational had often saved his life, helped him to hide from detection, when his hunger might have taken over and endangered him. He needed The Rational, but he also needed...

His eyes came back to the screens, fastening on one that showed a streaming mass of people trying to flee the riot, their clothes torn, bleeding from several wounds, all crying and screaming. He needed that as well. He _needed _it. _Needed it Needed it Needed it..._

**_A little taste, _**The Rational conceded. **_But remember the rest as well. Be smart about it. Listen. _**

He listened to the voice of The Rational as it turned his hunger into a plan.

Carefully, he lifted a cylinder into a tank filled with clear water and with forceps, he began to prepare a true present. A gift to himself. A masterpiece after his own heart.

It was time to indulge himself, at least a little.

* * *

_Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (23 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

It wasn't until he was back in his bunk and almost asleep that Gaff realized he'd set himself up for a potential disaster. The Jedi commander had said, "bright and early," but Gaff actually had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Normal operating hours at the base began at 0500 every morning, but at that point of Gaftikar's day cycle, it was not bright, though certainly early. Dawn didn't come until at least an hour later. So, had she meant she would be coming to the base at 0500, when the day began for the clones, or had she meant she'd be coming when it was "bright" in the morning?

Gaff fretted about this distinction for nearly twenty-three minutes, aware that he was being ridiculously obsessed over a minor detail, but unable to help himself. He'd made such a fool of himself during their first meeting. To think, his first person-to-person encounter with a Jedi officer and he'd stuttered like a cadet with a concussion. And the _things _he'd said to her. In the darkness of his room, Gaff felt his cheeks heating with embarrassment and remembered horror. How could he have been so unprofessional as to start talking to a Jedi Commander about...about her being a woman! He'd half expected her to demote him down to private and send him to scrubbing 'freshers on Hoth right then and there. Certainly she would have been in her rights.

With a groan, Gaff turned on his stomach, burying his head in his pillow. The only excuse he could come up with for his atrocious behaviour was that she had...overwhelmed him. Neither his teachings on Kamino nor his previous communications with High Generals Yoda and Windu had prepared him for a Jedi who was so...so...alive and vibrant and...He swallowed. And beautiful, with laughing eyes that, much to his surprise, were a strange and unique shade of teal.

_Focus, _he reminded himself sternly and turned back onto his back. With a growl of frustration at his wandering mind, he got off of his bunk, turned on the lights and started pacing his small, personal quarters. Thinking about her eyes or the long fall of her blond-blue hair wouldn't get him very far. It was entirely unprofessional, unethical and against more regs than he could count. If he wanted to repair some of the damage his idiocy today had caused, then he needed to get their next meeting right.

That would mean following standard operational procedures when greeting a newly arrived commanding officer. Well, he knew how to organize that, but it brought him right back to his earlier problem. He still had no idea when the commander would arrive.

But Gaff had been trained to solve a problem quickly and efficiently, and now that he was properly focused, several possibilities to acquire the relevant Intel came to him. The simplest strategy, of course, would be to comm her and ask for confirmation. He glanced at his wall mounted chrono. No, it was too late to initiate any contact that did not pertain to an emergency and besides, he'd forgotten to ask her for her contact information. Another inexcusable blunder on his part.

But she had to be staying at the spaceport; at least, she'd said that was her final destination. So, he could call the troopers on duty at the spaceport and ask them to alert him whenever the Jedi made her way to Eyat. He was about to do that, when he stopped, frozen in the act of contacting his men. The spaceport contingent had failed to inform him of her arrival in the first place, which meant, most likely, that they'd been unaware of her presence on Gaftikar as well. She had come to Gaftikar without using official channels and there had to be a reason for that. Jedi never did anything without a reason, after all.

Something Sergeant Wren had said during their last communique with the Jedi Temple, the reason they needed a Jedi in the first place. Subtle, they needed a Jedi because Jedi could be subtle. Gaff's hands moved away from the communications console. The only reason why Commander Arhen would not have informed the spaceport authorities of her arrival was because she did not want that fact to be known. She clearly wanted to maintain some kind of low profile and Gaff would undermine her intentions by calling his troopers at the spaceport and making them search her out.

Gaff blew out a breath, glad he had avoided damaging his professional aptitude even further. Running one hand through his short, black hair, he decided on a different course of action. He would get up an hour earlier than usual, 0330, and have the sensors surrounding the base's perimeter reprogrammed to alert him to the Jedi's proximity. Then he would inform the base personnel of the Jedi's intended visit at the start of the day cycle. With the perimeter sensors programmed to recognize her specific biometric configuration, when she was...say, half a klick from the base, it would give him enough time to assemble the men at the parade ground and give Commander Ro Arhen a proper demonstration of F Company's proficiency. And maybe salvage her impression of him, as well.

With the problem resolved, Gaff lay back down on his bunk and promptly went to sleep.

* * *

_Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (24 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Apparently, bright and early meant something completely different to Jedi then it did to clones.

Ro stood at the entrance of Eyat Base, which opened up to a large, well-manicured lawn of Gaftikar's short, but very tough, grass. Looking at the tableau before her, she scratched her head in utter bewilderment. She'd thought she'd managed to get up pretty early; she'd had Artee wake her at six in the morning, Gaftikar time, but by the looks of things, the clones of Eyat Base had been up for hours.

_And…waiting for me? _If that was the case, she was beyond fashionably late.

"Atten-shun!" Came a shout from off to the side and Ro nearly jumped out of her skin as eighty-two clones, standing in four neat rows, snapped into rigid attention, bringing their blasters up to their right shoulder, all in a single, fluid motion. It was an impressive display, even if she was stumped as to the reason for it.

Commander Gaff, his helmet tucked under one arm at an angle so sharp, Ro was certain she could take a protractor to it, approached her with precise steps. Stopping before her, he gave her one of his crisp salutes and Ro wondered if he spent his nights ironing his hand for the next days saluting. Behind him followed a clone with blue stripes on his armor, something Ro now knew- thanks to a late night study marathon – meant that this clone was a lieutenant. Two steps behind him came the distinctive figure of Sergeant Wren. Unlike Gaff, the lieutenant and sergeant had their helmets on. They too saluted her, though the sergeant's felt far less enthusiastic.

Unlike the rest of the clones, Wren didn't feel _excited _or _eager. _Rather, he felt like a grumpy charnoq, prodded out of its comfortable nest in the sun before its blood had properly warmed up. Apparently, her cookie wasn't a morning person. Somehow, she wasn't surprised.

"Commander Arhen," Gaff said in a polished tone of voice, "welcome to Eyat Command Base. Might I introduce you to my chief medic, Lieutenant Wess?"

The clone in the blue-striped armor gave her a salute and respectful nod. Ro smiled at him and wished him a chipper, "Good morning."

Lieutenant Wess hesitated for a moment, as if not sure what to make of her words, then gave her another nod and hesitantly repeated the words back at her, adding a very respectful, "Commander." But despite his unsureness, Ro could sense a tentative smile behind that rather imposing looking helmet.

Watching the introductions with eyes as sharp of those of a Vratixan blood eagle, Gaff informed Ro, "My second-in-command, Captain Kase, is currently overseeing security at the Shenio Mining HQ with the other half of my company and could not be here to greet you personally." Then he turned towards the final member of the little group. "And you've already met Sergeant Wren."

Ro glanced quickly at Gaff, for although his face and tone remained carefully neutral there'd been an interesting surge of emotions from him, when he mentioned Wren. _Something's cooking there, _she thought. _I'm getting a definite crabapple pie vibe._

"Commander," Gaff continued, his stance shifting to something more formal, with his hands behind his back and his head tilted respectfully down at her. "F Company is assembled and accounted for and ready for your inspection." He sounded so very pleased that Ro felt quite bad for having no idea what he was talking about.

"I'm sorry, inspection?" She leaned slightly towards the side to peer around the commander's ramrod straight figure. At that moment, a shaft of the bright Gaftikar sunlight fell on the assembled troopers, reflecting off of the polished black of the blasters and the bright surface of the troopers' gleaming white armor

_Uhh, shiny, _Ro thought and had to bite her lip to keep the words firmly in check. Somehow, she didn't think that was the response Gaff was looking for.

"Yes, s-Commander," he said, correcting himself quickly. Apparently, he hadn't forgotten their little talk in Cebz's office yesterday about calling her sir. "SOP for all newly arrived GAR officers; inspection of the troops in full BDU, followed by a tour of HQ and a sitrep of all ongoing operations in MTCC."

Ro blinked at the man. She recognized the acronym HQ, but the rest stumped her. What was BDU and MTCC? Were they even still speaking the same language?

"Does that explanation come with subtitles?" she asked.

"I…" Gaff looked uncertain now and a little disappointed as well and Ro felt absolutely terrible. He felt so _earnest _to her; almost like a puppy proudly demonstrating to her a newly learned trick. And she was currently whacking him on the nose with a proverbial newspaper with her ignorance.

Ro quickly reviewed what she had learned on her trip here and last night about the GAR and the military in general. Obviously Gaff thought her some kind of superior officer, which was interesting but utterly ridiculous. But going from that – and what she had observed and sensed yesterday – she figured that he wanted to make a good impression on her. And that would include…?

_Showing off his men to me, _she realized, putting two and two together. _Duh, Ro. The parade ground, inspecting the troops; this is all for your benefit. Now, say something nice._

Trying to recall everything Shiv had ever told her about his former commanding officers, Ro decided that stuffy and professional would be the best way to go about this. Folding her hands behind her back and doing her best stern-and-serious-Master-Windu impression, Ro confidently walked past Gaff, the lieutenant and sergeant, until she was only a few steps away from the first rank of troopers.

At her approach, Ro could sense the assembled men straightening even further, though none of them even so much as twitched. _If I huff and puff, _she wondered, unable to keep her mischievous nature completely suppressed, though her face remained serious, _would they all fall down? _

"Gentlemen," she said formally and gave them all an exaggeratedly proper nod. She felt a little ridiculous, doing this in her normally comfortable and colorful attire, but hey, what the crowd wants the crowd got. At least she had thought to leave her quetarra back in the ship and to clip her lightsabers to her belt. Lightsabers were always a big crowd pleaser and added just that touch of seriousness to a situation. And her performance seemed to be appreciated by the troopers. Ro could feel their unwavering attention on her, but also a sense of _pleasure, excitement _and a hint of _nervousness. _They were also very, very _curious _and that feeling made her want to wriggle a little on the spot. Curiosity always felt to Ro like tickling fingers in her brain.

Remembering some old war holovids she'd seen, Ro even walked a few steps up and down the ranks, before turning to face Gaff and the other two once more. Gaff's face was carefully neutral, but she could sense a whole tangle of anxiety from him. _Time to put the poor guy out of his misery, _she thought.

"Commander," she said, remembering in time that calling him Gaff might not be per script right now, "you have a fine command here. I am very impressed."

Gaff saluted again. _Is he always going to do that before saying something? _She wondered.

"Thank you, Commander Arhen." Though his face remained unchanged, she could feel that he was pleased, which pleased her in turn.

A stab of _irritation, _as quick as a lightning strike, caused her to turn her eyes on Wren. He was still standing at the back of the group, hands behind his back, his head turned off to the side. But though he gave every outward appearance of not paying attention, she knew that he was and that he found it very…_Irritating, _she thought. _But it's more, too. He's also angry and…and disappointed? _

"Dis-missed!" came another shout and Ro found herself once more startled into near heart failure. As one, the assembled clone troopers turned towards the right and marched off the parade ground, before dispersing with such efficiency that Ro thought for a moment it was part of the maneuver.

Then Ro was left alone on the grassy field with Gaff, Wren and the lieutenant, Wess. Gaff stepped towards her.

"Commander," he said. "If you would follow me, then we can…"

"Whoa, whoa, stop." Ro said, making slow-down movements with her hands. She'd played along because she hadn't wanted to hurt Gaff's feelings in front of all of his men, but it was time to lay down some rules. She could not, in all seriousness, keep up this performance. If she had to remain as stern and cool as Master Windu throughout this assignment, then her face would crack.

"I think that there's been a few misunderstandings," she told all three men. "First off, I'm not a commander. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but it didn't seem like the right time."

Gaff frowned in confusion. "You said you were a Padawan, Commander Arhen. All Padawans are accorded the rank of commander according to GAR regulations."

Ro winced. _This might take a while. _"Is there anywhere we could go to discuss this?" she asked. "Somewhere private? While I love staying out in the sun, this might get a little lengthy and I'd prefer the chance to sit down."

Gaff immediately came to attention. "Of course, Commander," he told her and Ro nearly slapped a palm to her forehead in frustration. "This way please. We can discuss this further in my office."

Ro found herself trotting behind Gaff as he took the lead, the beads on her tassled pants gently slapping against her skin. Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, Ro cast a quick glance behind her; Wess and Wren were following them in even, unhurried steps. _Must be nice, _she thought, _being that tall and having long legs to boot._

Gaff turned out to be truly proficient in the art of multitasking. While leading her through the compound towards his office, he also took the opportunity to give her a small tour of the base, pointing out the mess hall, the communications center, the MTCC – whatever that was – and the corridor leading to the barracks. All in all, Eyat Command was not an overly big place. It was basically three square, grey, prefab buildings joined by connecting hallways, enclosing an inner compound and surrounded by the parade ground on one side and an exercise yard and landing pad on the other. Ro didn't care much for the interior decoration; there just didn't seem to be any. The walls and floors were uniformly grey and the whole place felt sterile. Lived in, but sterile. But it did seem to be a busy place; everywhere she looked she saw white-armored figures busily at work or striding purposefully towards something. Each and every one of the clones they encountered saluted them and Ro's head was starting to spin. _If I never see another salute after this, _she thought ruefully, _it'll be too soon. How does Garett stand it?_

Gaff's office seemed to be a reflection of both the base itself and its occupant. It was square, grey, efficiently furnished and so earnest in its portrayal of an office, Ro got the distinct feeling it had been prefabricated to look exactly like this. There was a metal desk with a chair, another chair facing it. The walls featured an assortment of flimsi maps of what Ro recognized to be Eyat and its immediate surroundings, as well as one very large map of all of Gaftikar. Each map, she noted with some interest, was marked by various multicolored pins and symbols, that meant nothing to Ro, but looked pretty.

Gaff gestured her towards the chair behind the desk, but she pointedly took the one in front. He hesitated for a moment, then took the chair behind the desk himself. Wess, his lieutenant, and Wren took up stations behind Gaff and facing her. Wess stood straight and alert, while Wren slouched against a wall, arms crossed over his chest in a pose of insolence similar to the one he had adopted yesterday at Cebz's office.

Ro looked from one to the other. "I'd prefer talking to face-to-face, if that's alright."

Wren shrugged languidly and pulled off his helmet. Wess shot Gaff a quick, questioning stare, but also removed his helmet at a nod from his superior.

Ro leaned back in her chair, taking the time to study the three faces before her.

She'd known of course that these men were clones and therefore shared the same features, but it was one thing to know and another to _see._ For the first few moments it was a bit disorienting to see, first hand, the face of the Grand Army of the Republic, in triplicate. Oh, she'd been diligently following HNE news reports since the start of the Clone Wars and she'd seen all the promotional holos, but those only ever included footage similar to what she had just seen outside: tall, white-armored and helmeted troopers in precise lines, marching to or from a battlefield. HNE never bothered to show faces; never showed the people behind the visors. 

Which, she had to admit, was a darned shame, because that face was quite nice to look at.

Glossy black hair, tanned skin; high cheekbones so sharp, they looked sculpted and a proud nose set above a firm mouth and chin. _Jango Fett must have been beating them off with a stick, _she thought and fought a little, girlish giggle. _So not appropriate, Ro. Bad girl, bad. _

But it wasn't just the handsome features that fascinated her. It was the variety she found in these men who were supposed to be carbon copies of each other. This might be the face of an army, but it was not the same face; not truly. Take Gaff for instance. Gaff's face was earnest and open, his eyes constantly looking at you directly. He was clean-shaven, his hair neatly cut and all in all, he reminded her a little of her older brother, Garett; always eager to get everything right. Lieutenant Wess, on the other hand, had a neatly trimmed goatee and his hair had been shorn off, except for five thin stripes. To Ro, he looked and felt alert and curious, his brown eyes taking her in from top to toe in quick, but sure glances. Not intrusively, but rather, like he was studying her physiognomy to memorize where everything went, in case he had to stitch something back on.

_And then there's my smart cookie, _she thought, studying the lounging clone carefully. He was clean-shaven like Gaff, but that was where the similarities ended. His hair had been cut so short it was nothing more than a fine fuzz covering his scalp. There was a scar at the right corner of his mouth, which pulled his lips upwards on that side, giving the impression that he wore a perpetual half-smile. But his brown eyes were hard as they studied her as openly as she was studying him. There was alertness in him as well, but it was the type of alertness that told Ro that, despite his casual attitude, he was ready to pull his blaster at a moment's notice. And his armor; she'd already noticed the keen shine of the armor worn by the other clones on the base, but Wren's, although clean, was not shiny. It was scored with scratches, burns and char marks, the paint of his green stripes chipped in some places. He'd seen action, Ro was certain of it.

_Dark, dangerous and sexy; you're a real triple threat, aren't you, cookie? _

Just for fun, Ro flashed him a dazzling smile and had the satisfaction of seeing Wren start in surprise before she turned her attention back to Gaff and the matter at hand. _Smile, _she thought happily, _it confuses people. _

_Now focus, _she admonished herself. _You've had your look-see and now you know what Callista has been going on about. __Time to throw the lever and get serious and stuff._

"I'm not in the army," she told them, deciding to cut to the chase. "Like I said yesterday, I'm a Jedi investigator. I investigate crimes; I don't lead armies. The Temple asked me to help you out with your bomber, but I'm basically..." she trailed off, searching for words that would be familiar to them. "I'm basically a civilian specialist, contracted out to the military." Yeah, that sounded about right. "So," and she waggled one finger playfully in front of Gaff, returning to her impish nature, "you can cut the commander talk. I'm Ro, plain and simple."

"But si…eh, Comman…" Gaff stopped at her raised brow. "Padawan," he tried again, the word sounding so meek it practically came out as a question.

"Ro," she corrected firmly, but gently. "Just Ro. I'm not a one for titles. They have their place, but I prefer to keep things friendly with the folk I'm working with." And to prove her point she graced them with a friendly smile and a wink. "Keeps the workplace atmosphere pleasant."

Gaff and Wess exchanged a glance, clearly confused and uncertain on how to proceed. "Then," Gaff started, hesitatingly, "you are not here to take over command of the base, eh, Ro?" The way he said her name, as well as the question itself, made her laugh.

"Oh, oh dear Force, no." She laughed, wiping a tear away. "Gaff, if you knew me at all, you'd know I was the last person you want in charge of something like this." And she waved a hand around to indicate the base. "My first order of business would be to give the whole shebang a new paintjob. Hardly productive to the war effort."

"Oh, I don't know about that," drawled Wren. "Would depend on the choice of background motive. Get a few neon colors, paint the men as well and this place would have no trouble camouflaging as a circus."

Ro clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter again. Uh, she could just picture it, but from the daggers Gaff was shooting Wren, the commander found the mental image far less amusing than she did.

"That will be all, Sergeant," he snapped. Then he turned back to Ro. "My apologies, for the Sergeant…Padawan," he said after a short pause, apparently unable to bring himself to call her by her first name again. Ro sighed but didn't push the issue. "The sergeant does not always understand that levity has its time and place."

Ro shrugged it off. "Perfectly fine. Neither do I. And I did start it," she felt compelled to say.

Gaff shifted a little, uncomfortable now, but decided to ignore her last comment and to get back to the business at hand. "If you are not here to take over command, then what exactly can I and F Company do for you, Padawan."

"I understand from the reports that you and your men were the first at the scene of the first and third bombing. I would like to see all three sites with someone from the first responders."

"There's not much left to see," Wess said, speaking for the first time. "What the bombs didn't destroy, the firefighters did. Mostly, there's nothing left but a crater and slag."

"That's perfectly alright," Ro told him. "I'm not looking for physical clues alone. I'm hoping that, once at the scene, I can pick up some trace of the bomber in the Force. Bombers operate under an agenda," she explained. "Most are grudge motivated and the bomber takes a distinct pleasure in being there, to see the source of his grudge destroyed. If I can catch a trace of his Force-signature at the sites, then I will be able to recognize him when I come across him during the investigation."

Gaff and Wess looked suitably impressed. "You can do that?" Wess asked, sounding a little awed.

Ro's lips quirked at that. "Yes, I can. Think of me as a scent hound, nose a-twitching," and she twitched her small nose for emphasis.

Wess quickly brought one hand up and, under the guise of stroking his goatee, covered a smile. _Finally, _she thought, _it's about time these guys lightened up a little. _

Gaff coughed gently to regain her attention. "I will issue you a squad of troopers as an escort immediately, Padawan."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Ro said, negating that idea as quickly as she could. "I mean to travel light and fast and as unobtrusively as I can. No offense Gaff," and she smiled kindly at him to take the sting out of her words, "but your men tend to stand out in a crowd. While the planetary council knows I'm here, I'd like to keep the bomber in the dark for a bit longer. Just one man from the squads who witnessed the bombings to play tour guide and I'm good."

"Very well, Padawan," Gaff said. "I'll call up Private…"

"I'll take her," Wren interrupted. Everyone turned towards the sergeant in surprise, though Ro was clearly far more delighted by his unexpected offer than either Gaff or Wess were.

"I don't think that would be advisable, Sergeant," Gaff said, his tone sounding censuring. "I'm sure your other duties require you to be elsewhere at the present."

Wren shrugged, but his eyes stayed firmly fixed on Gaff. There was a spark of devilment in his eyes as well as pure durasteel. "I think that, given current developments, my other duties can wait. Besides, I was in charge of the patrols during two of the bombings, one of the first ones on the scene and I'm up to date on all current developments. I can brief," his eyes briefly flickered towards her, "_Ro, _during her examinations of the scenes, as well as give her my impressions."

The tension that suddenly sprung up between Gaff and Wren was so palpable, Ro was pretty sure she could have bounced a bolo ball off of it. Wess, feeling it as well, began to look distinctly uncomfortable.

_What is it between these two, _she wondered. Well, whatever it was, it was putting her teeth on edge.

Deciding to break the staring contest before it came to actual blows, Ro clapped her hands together, bringing everyone's attention back to her. "Wonderful," she said, a bit overly enthusiastic, even for her. "Now that that's settled, let's get cracking, shall we?" She looked expectantly at all three clones. Gaff gave an almost imperceptible sigh.

"Very well. Sergeant, permission to escort the Padawan. I advise taking one of the speeder bikes from the garage."

"Yessir," Wren said and managed to say the words like a parent indulging a child. He pushed himself away from the wall and, without a backwards glance at either Ro or the two other clones, strode out of the office.

_Guess that's my cue to follow. _Ro quickly thanked Gaff and Wess, then hurried out of the office, trying to catch up with Wren. Not an easy task; his longer legs gave him a distinct advantage and he was already a few turns further down the corridor when she finally caught up with him.

When she did manage to reach his side, Ro got the distinct impression that Wren was waiting for some kind of response from her. So, he'd left her to race after him on purpose. _Wants to push my buttons, eh? Well, two can play that game, cookie. _Putting her hands behind her back, Ro deliberately remained silent the entire way towards the garage, smiling at everyone they met on the way, but purposefully ignoring Wren. She craned her head this way and that to take in the sights along the way, but carefully avoiding eye contact with the man walking brusquely next to her. Her reaction was clearly not the one he had anticipated and it vexed him, which in turn pleased her. Ro had the feeling that working with the sergeant would be quite entertaining, as well as challenging. One of her favorite combinations.

When they got to the garage, the clone in charge told them that there was only one speeder bike left available.

"Others are all out on patrol, sirs," he said apologetically, cringing a little under Wren's hard stare.

Stepping between them, Ro patted the man comfortingly on the arm. He started a little at her touch, looking down at her in utter surprise. "That's perfectly alright," she told him, smiling up at him. _Ugh, before this is done I'm gonna have a neck cramp, _she thought, not for the first time regretting she was so short. "We'll just share, won't we…"

But Wren was already striding towards the bike, taking the controls.

"Guess that means I ride pillion," she said and skipped towards her ride. If he thought he could ruin her mood simply by being rude, then he had another think coming.

Sliding in behind his armored form, Ro watched as he put his helmet back on and revved the bike's engines. In turn, Ro loosened the rainbow colored scarf she used as a headband and tied her long platinum bond hair into a loose ponytail at her neck, thinking all the while on how to best get under this one's skin.

"You know," she said blithely, "I've alway wanted my very own personal driver and I think it's real chivalrous of you, granting a girl a life-long dream. I never expected such customer friendly service from the army."

He turned his helmeted face to look back at her and although she couldn't see his eyes behind the visor, she knew he was glaring at her with enough intensity to peel paint off a starship.

_Oho, if looks could kill I'd be on my last death twitch by now,_ she thought, utterly delighted.

"I suggest you hold on tightly," he growled out and they were off.

Pressing her cheek against his armored back, Gaftikar's wind making her long hair fly out behind her, Ro laughed.

_Ro: one. Smart cookie: nil. _

* * *

He swayed a little as his eyes moved between the two cylinders.

It was done. One a means to an end and the other...the other was a true present.

His tongue darted out again and again, wetting his lips in eagerness. He could feel the lust, the desire, the _hunger, _burning within him. It nearly scorched him with its intensity.

He had been denying those feelings for a long time now, with the help of The Rational. It was all part of the plan. He had a purpose and the purpose demanded that he proceed according to a specific game plan.

His eyes moved away from the cylinders on his workbench and towards the bank of monitors. On one of them was the image of Gaftikar's leader, the Marit Cebz. She was holding a speech, the other ten council members arranged behind her; presenting a unified front for the first time in Gaftikar's history. Cebz was calling for calm, for cooperation. She was urging the people to go about their business, to help rebuild the city. She was explaining the events of yesterday in measured tones, asking that the wounded came to the hospitals for treatment, as well as reminding the people to cooperate with the current investigations for both the riot and the bombings. He didn't like that. It didn't suit him.

**_It doesn't matter what does and does not suit you, _**The Rational reminded him sternly. **_It has no bearing on what you do._**

He turned his attention to the other monitors, the ones that were on a continuous loop, showing the images of yesterday's riot over and over again. That was what he wanted to see: over two thousand people going at each other, blood everywhere. Twelve people had died, almost all of them trampled to death. Many hundreds had been injured, forty critically. It could have been worse, if someone had not interfered, but it was a pleasing spectacle nonetheless. And he had been its creator. But it wasn't enough.

His eyes came to rest on the second cylinder and his tongue licked his lips again. It was all so peripheral. His presents were causing panic and that panic caused people to turn on each other like beasts.

**_That is your purpose here, _**The Rational said.

But that did not satisfy the hunger. He was a hunter and he wanted to hunt for real. To let some blood by the machinations of his own two hands. The two Marits who had died in his third explosion had been a delightful surprise, but it had been like eating a pastry to ward off starvation. Instead of stilling his hunger, the Marits accidental death had only spread a sweet taste through his mouth and had reminded him of just how hungry he truly was.

His fingers caressed the cylinder lovingly. It would not hurt, he was sure, to indulge his appetite for now. The plan could continue…with a few changes.

The Rational began to whisper to him almost immediately at those thoughts. **_Remember the plan. Deviations are acceptable, as long as precautions are taken and the goal is reached._ **And The Rational began rattling off all the steps he would have to take to pull this off; to satisfy his hunger while staying on track.

While he listened, his fingers kept returning to the second cylinder, his touch as gentle as a lover's. He would have to be clever, but then, he'd always been clever. And The Rational had always made sure of him continuing undetected.

In the darkness of his lair, he smiled in deep satisfaction. It was time to hunt.


	9. Chapter 8: From the Ashes

**From the Ashes…**

"_There are certain clues at a crime scene which by their very nature do not lend themselves to being collected or examined. How's one to collect love, rage, hatred, fear…?" _

_- James Reese_

* * *

He slipped in and out without too much difficulty. The Rational had long since charted a safe path for him to follow and he did not deviate from it. Getting from his kill nest to the city was an almost daily routine for him anyway. Once in Eyat things would become more difficult. He would have to be more careful not to give himself away, but he did not fear detection too much. He had a predator's instincts and the voice of The Rational to guide them.

The streets were relatively lively today. The citizens had decided that the early morning and evening hours were safest for them and went about their business with a studious, pale indifference to all else. No one noticed him. The sheep, for all their vaunted instincts, rarely noticed the wolf until it was too late. Besides, they were too busy with themselves to notice a danger from the outside that was lurking also within. It was the silliness of beings and one he capitalized on.

He carefully planted his presents. And though his excitement mounted with each passing second, his hands moved with a surgeon's precision.

The Rational had chosen the location for the first target, but the second was all his. Art was about timing and effect. A true masterpiece could only be appreciated with the right background. He slipped back into the crowds again and waited. This time, he wanted to see for himself. The Rational had protested initially, like it had protested all deviations from the plan. Nevertheless, he would wait and watch. He could always slip away later. The Rational had identified several exit routes in advance. It knew him all too well.

He wet his lips in anticipation. It was time to satisfy his hunger.

* * *

_Site of the third bombing, former public records office, the government block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, 21 BBY (24 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Wess had been right, there really wasn't much left to see at any of the previous bombing sites. The first two, the Shenio Mining hangar and the storage facility, were basically no more than shallow craters and blackened and cracked permacrete and durasteel. The firefighters had destroyed most of the physical evidence in their attempts to put out the fires that had started due to the explosions. Ro had collected a few samples, but she wasn't hopeful. Most of them would probably prove too contaminated to be useful and much of the debris had already been cleared away and destroyed.

The Force wasn't much use either. Though she tried, she could not pick up any significant trails of the bomber through her Force-senses. As with the physical evidence, the firefighters had destroyed much of what the Force might have retained. All Ro could sense was their intense _concentration, exertion, fear_ and _determination_ as they'd battled the blaze. This potent emotional mix overshadowed all other traces in the Force.

Despite her rather disappointing beginnings, Ro still asked Wren to drive her to the third and last site: the public records office, which was also where the bomber's only two victims had perished.

Ro was more hopeful about this site for several reasons, one of which being that it was the most recent and thereby the freshest.

She jumped off of the speeder bike before it came to a complete stop, leaving Wren to park the speeder off to one side. Ro surveyed the remains of the records office and felt some of her hopes crushed. The site didn't look any better than the previous two.

_Whoever this bomber is, he knows his explosives, _Ro thought, as she gazed at the scene before her. As with the other two sites, there was little left of the original structure but a shallow crater, some of the foundation and bits of skeletal remains of the framework, bent and twisted outwards according with the direction of the concussive blast of the bomb. The explosion must have been great to achieve this kind of damage, but very precisely controlled. Although the records office was pretty much nothing more than slag, the surrounding buildings had barely been touched. Ro could see some cracks in the surrounding permacrete and plaster, and most of the windows were still being replaced, but other than that, the rest of the government block was curiously unaffected by the explosion. That took skill and lots of it.

Ro absentmindedly blew some of her bangs out of her eyes, thinking. The bomber's proficiency bothered her. This was not the work of someone who'd just randomly decided to take out his anger on the city. This guy knew what he was doing and that was...bad. Very bad. Amateurs made mistakes and were a lot easier to catch.

_Looks like this isn't going to be as easy as you originally thought, Ro. Serves you right for being cocky. _Ro shook the thought out of her head. She had no time for chastizing herself. She needed to get to work.

Stepping lightly into the crater, Ro began to walk through the debris. Or what was left of it. Like the bomber, Eyat's firefighters were far too proficient for her liking. Oh, she understood very well the rules they were following and she commended their swift and decisive actions, but the investigator in her needed the scene uncontaminated. The clean-up of the site had probably destroyed valuable evidence and Ro mourned that loss even as she concentrated on salvaging what she could. She passed piles of burnt flimsi and puddles of melted metal, either from furniture or some electronic equipment. She logged it all in her head, making the occasional note in a small, flimsi notebook she kept for just that purpose.

The site was still fresh enough for it to reek and Ro could smell traces of wet, burned wood, superheated metal, smoke and something else...something more indefinable. She paused for a moment and sniffed the air. It was...chemical in origin, sharp, a little musty, a little metallic. _Detonite, _she realized and scribbled another few lines into her notebook. _  
_

Ro took a last look at her surroundings, noting that Wren had silently followed her, but was keeping a few steps behind her. She had this creeping sensation along her spine that told her he was watching her carefully. Ro had no idea why, but he'd been like that throughout the entire morning. Ro knew he wasn't pleased about her playing along at the parade grounds that morning, though she had no idea why it would bother him so much. She was only being nice, after all.

"Concentrate," she muttered under her breath and turned her back on the trooper. She was now standing in the exact middle of the crater, in what had once been the space for the main offices. Perfect. Another reason why she hadn't had much luck at the two previous sites was because simply too much time had elapsed since the bombing. The Force could retain impressions of strong emotions and powerful events for a while, but the more time passed, the harder it became to find those impressions in the Force. Ro was good, but she wasn't that good. More than two weeks had elapsed and frankly, the previous two bombings just hadn't been tragic enough to leave a permanent imprint in the Force. Ro thought this site would prove different. Not only was it the freshest, but actual people had worked here. And died here.

Ro tucked her notebook into a pocket of her lilac jacket, closed her eyes and opened herself to the Force around her. The difference was almost instantly noticeable. Whereas the previous two sites had felt to Ro like dried flowers, this one was perceivably more vibrant; the Force-impressions around her were fresher, more easily detected.

When she had described herself as a scent hound to Wess, Ro had only been half-joking. Emotions were slightly different in the Force than most other sensations created by the living organisms through which the Force flowed. Like scents, they tended to not only spread, but also to cling and linger to a place or a person, creating unique trails. And as an empath, Ro was just the right breed of Force-user to pick up on them.

And unlike the other two sites, the records building was a quagmire of emotional scents. Ro stood very still in the midst of the burned and blasted ruins, her eyes closed, hands hanging loosely at her side. She was breathing deeply and evenly, her mind utterly suffused in the emotional echoes of this place. Every Force-user had his or her own way of interpreting and experiencing the Force. For her brother, it was like echolocation, seeing the essence and the spirit of a person and object in silvery light. Master Altis often described the Force in weather patterns. Ro, whose ability to harness the Force was more or less limited to her empathy, most easily expressed the sensations in sight and smell, taste and touch. To her, an emotion could feel yellow and taste sour or call to mind images of snowfields or a pine tree. So a complex assortment of emotions often painted to Ro a complete picture that called on her entire body.

Like this site. Ro could feel the lingering emotions of the people who had once worked here. Some of the impressions were faint, washed out or overlaid by others due to age; others were vivid and clear, the newest additions. But they all built on one another, either enforcing the overall impression or canceling each other out. Ro explored each detail carefully, lingeringly, like an avid art lover strolling through a gallery, inspecting each brushstroke on the canvas.

There was _tedium,_ which was grey,_ ambition_ that crackled on her tongue like fizzy powder and _frustration _and _gratification,_ which caused her jaw to first tense and then relax. All of these were emotions that belonged to an office workplace where sentient beings were used for the work, but the work was neither urgent nor mentally or physically demanding. Ro could also tell that not many had worked here - no more than ten or twelve at a time – because she could detect a definite trend in the emotional patterns that denoted the same sentients had been here again and again over a period of years.

But there were other emotions as well, the newest of them all and Ro grimaced as she perceived them. _Tension, fear, resentment; _they were like a sour note in her head, one that kept repeating over and over again, a fork on chalkboard. Then she caught a flash of _surprise, _then _pain _and abruptly, everything went blank as she reached the end of the emotional gallery. Ro's eyes fluttered open; she had caught the death of the two Marit workers. But there was one thing that was still missing and its absence puzzled her. There was no _malevolence, _which would have registered in her mind like a storm cloud ready to burst, nor was there _happiness _twisted to accommodate the satisfaction of complete destruction.

"Why don't I sense you?" she asked the ruins. "You're a bomber with a grudge, so why aren't you here gloating?"

"You Jedi make lovely targets," a voice drawled from behind her. "You stand around for hours on end, with nothing between you and a blaster shot except empty air and a belief in your own immortality."

Ro turned around to see her companion standing only a few steps behind her. Wren, it seemed, had decided to use her period of distraction to sneak up on her. His lips, as he regarded her, were upturned into a challenging sneer and although not a charming expression, Ro was glad he had chosen to leave his helmet clipped to his belt. She really preferred talking to an actual face, rather than that intimidating front of a helmet. And with his face exposed, it was much easier to see the impact her words and actions had on him.

Now, she chuckled softly at his baiting of her. "I do believe that's the most you've said to me all day. We're making progress. And no," she told him cheerily, "we Jedi don't believe in our own immortality." Quick as a flash she jumped backwards into the air, twisting until she landed behind the startled clone. She managed to tap a finger against his armored back before he whirled around to face her. "And empty air can come in handy, when you know how to use it."

A flash of anger suffused him and his face darkened, but Ro shrugged it off. If he couldn't take as good as he gave, then there was no point in playing this game further. But to her delight, the anger faded and the scarred side of his mouth made a quick, almost imperceptible upwards twitch. He took a step backwards, putting some distance between them, but Ro felt elated. It wasn't often that she met someone who could take her particular brand of teasing without throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"You jump almost as good as that rabbit," he said and gestured towards the tiny carving on her left lightsaber. Ro was impressed. He must have perfect vision to have seen the little squall carving on the lightsaber's activation panel. It was no bigger than her thumbnail, after all.

"You should see me in the dessert line," she replied cheekily. "I can zig and zag till the carrot cake runs out. And it's a squall." She patted her lightsaber affectionately.

He folded his arms over his chest, considering her for a moment, before jerking his head towards where she had been standing. "Find something?"

Ro sighed. "Yes and no. Since this was the only consistently inhabited place, there's a lot in the Force to sort through, but at the same time," she hesitated, trying to put her concerns into words, "I'm not sensing what I thought I would. I need to approach this differently," she said, deciding to change tactics. She'd exhausted what the Force could tell her; maybe the physical world could answer some of her questions. Or at least give her more information to ask better questions. "Where exactly did the Marits die?"

Wren led her through the ruins to a spot further in the back and closer to the eastern corner of the building. There was a collection of marker holotags there, which Ro recognized. They were standard forensic equipment, used to mark valuable evidence at a crime scene, each color denoting a specific category. The markers here, about twenty-two in all, were red and blue holos; blue for inorganic evidence, red for organic matter, i.e. body parts. Ro hunkered down and took out a small pencillight from a pocket sewn into the inside of her lilac jacket. She flashed it carefully along the floor and what remained of the wall, studying the charrmarks and the discolorations.

"They were pretty close to the blast radius," she said. "I'd say just at the edge of the center."

Wren gave a snort at her observation, but she couldn't tell whether it was derisive or in disgust at the situation. "Had to be," he told her. "Nothing left of them but a few hunks of cooked meat and some fekking ash."

Which was a rather blunt way of confirming her guess, Ro thought. She put the light away and rummaged through more pockets, coming up with a small pair of forcepes and several small IMA bags. Wren hunkered down beside her, watching with some interest as she began to pick up small pieces of wreckage with the forcepes and placing them in the bags. He'd seen her do this at the other two sites as well and Ro had felt his mounting curiosity through the Force.

"What are those?" he finally asked, gesturing towards the plastic bags, no bigger than Ro's palm.

"IMA bags," she replied absently, "for a mass-spec analysis."

He looked at her blankly. "What?"

Ro winked at him. "See, you army boys aren't the only ones fluent in gibberish." Then she relented and held up one of the small bags for him to see. This one held a small scarp of flimsi, charred and crumbling at the edges, but still with some legible script at the center. "IMA stands for Instant Molecular Analysis," she explained. "Mass-spec is short for a mass spectrometry. It's the determination of elemental compositions, masses of particles and molecules and their chemical structures," she elaborated as his face remained studiously blank. "Each of these bags constains a small cylinder full of chemicals," and she pointed out the glass container attached to the bottom of the bag. "What you do is, once you've got your sample, you seal the bag," and she did, "then break the cylinder and give it all a good shake." Ro brought her palms together, keeping the bag in the middle. There was a small audible tinkling sound as the glass broke. Then she shook the bag a lilttle and held it up to the light. "Now we wait," she told him. "Reaction time is somewhere between instantaneous and a minute, depending on how many trace elements the sample contains and in what doses."

Wren watched with her as the clear liquid inside the bag slowly started to turn scarlet. "And what does that tell us?" he asked, sounding fascinated, despite himself.

Ro frowned at the bag. "Well, it depends. In this case, it tells me that the paper absorbed traces of detonite and the intensity of the color tells me that it was pretty high-grade stuff. But there are different IMA bags for different jobs." She pointed towards the seal of the bag, which was marked with a small logo; the universal warning sign for explosives. "This bag's chemicals are specifically mixed for the identification of explosives. I have others," and she gestured towards some of those scattered around her, "which can tell me other things, like the identification of organic matter, what drugs might be present, types of poison and so on. These little critters can't replace a fully equipped forensic lab of course, but they sure give it a good try."

Ro looked back at the IMA bag in her hand, thoughtful. The result didn't surprise her. The initial report had already identified detonite as the explsive involved, but the quality did. The red of the chemical compound had turned so bright it was almost glowing. This was not the cheap stuff, but detonite was a very carefully controlled substance; from the moment it was mined to the time it was purified and shipped out, each grain of the stuff was counted and tagged. Detonite of this quality could not simply disappear without leaving a trace. _And if somebody stole enough to make three bombs of this size, then I should have heard about it. So, where is he getting his detonite from?_

It would be tricky finding that out. Despite being rigidly controlled, detonite was not exactly a rare substance. It was used on a galaxy wide basis in perfectly legitimate ways, including construction and mining. _And the army, _Ro added thoughtfully. _The GAR has used tons of this stuff since the start of the Clone Wars. And if this is a Separatist plot...well, it's not like the Seps don't have detonite mines. _

She became aware of eyes on her and turned her head to find Wren studying her very carefully.

"Something on my nose?" she asked, curiously.

"You really know about this kind of thing, don't you?" He sounded disbelieving.

Ro gave a short laugh. "Well, I should. I have a degree in forensics."

That seemed to puzzle him only more. "A degree?" he asked. "Like, what you get from a university?"

"Yup. Mine's from the University of Aldera."

He rocked slightly back on his heels, seeming to mull this over. "I thought you Jedi were educated at the Temple on Coruscant."

Ah, now they were getting into tricky territory. Ro scratched the back of her head, trying to figure out how to explain the rather complicated history between the Jedi of the Temple and the more unorthodox Force-user sects. "Yeah," she said, drawing the word out. "Well, that's true and it's not. See, not all Jedi live in the Temple. I'm what's called an Altisian Jedi, a follower of Master Altis. We're a different type of Jedi, with a different approach to things and the Force."

"Like not fighting in the war?"

Ro winced. "Among other things. Master Altis believes that each of us has to make their own decision about the war and, well, most of us aren't really happy about it." She glanced at him quickly, but decided not to mention that most of the contention centered around the creation of the clone army. She wasn't sure how he might react to that and this wasn't the time to go into philosophies. "But, we're still trying to help," she added quickly, seeing one of his dark eyebrows rise in skepticism. "Most of the sect is busy providing humanitarian relief to planets affected by the war, others have volunteered at the medical stations."

"And you hunt bombers," he concluded.

Ro shrugged. "Bombers, terrorists, kidnappers, weapons dealers," she rattled off the list. "Murderers, rapists, slavers, the lot. I pretty much go after what comes into my sights." She picked up a small chip of wood with some sticky, glittering residue on it and considered it for a moment. "Everyone is just so busy lately," she told Wren. "The war is taking up everyone's time and most of the other Jedi investigators from the Temple have joined the war effort. So crime has been on the rise and rising fast." She finally decided that the residue might be a compound of something and put it in an IMA bag marked with a black circle: general analysis. She cracked the vial inside and shook it.

"Someone has to try and make sure those people and their victims aren't forgotten. And I don't like bullies." She watched as the chemical mixture turned first green, then a very pale blue, with a small strip of yellow at the top. Ro frowned. That was odd.

Wren, who had also been watching the changes taking place in the IMA bag asked, "What does that mean?"

"A mix of two different trace elements," she said, studying the result. "The pale blue is organic residue, though judging by how watery the color is, it won't be enough to get DNA from. The green before that was simply the wood. The yellow…" she trailed off. "Yellow usually indicates a mineral, but it would have to be extremely pure to create a color this intense."

"So," Wren said, slowly, "we learned that this building was blown up by a detonite bomb. Which we already knew. We know there's organic matter around. Again we already knew that." Ro threw him a sardonic glare. He was enjoying this. "And know we've learned that there were minerals about." He seemed about to continue in his mockery, but then abruptly closed his mouth, his face becoming thoughtful. "But really pure mineral. So not the type you'd find in a records office. Most of the equipment here was made with a mixture of metals and minerals, because that cuts down the cost for the manufacturer."

Ro beamed at him, pleasantly surprised by his insight. "You are a smart cookie," she exclaimed. "Oh, you are so getting full points for this one. I knew I was right to let you tag along."

"Excuse me?" he asked, sounding both incredulous and offended. "_You _let _me_ tag along? And for kriff's sake, stop calling me that effingly ridiculous name."

"What? You don't like being a smart cookie?"

"I'm a clone, I'm bred for intelligence, so I'm quite a cut above just smart. And don't even get me started on the whole cookie bit."

Ro made her eyes go wide, a grin coming to her lips. Gaff might be cute, but Wren was proving to be definitely fun. "But I like cookies," she said, pouting a little for effect. "They're my favorite dessert of all times."

"How karking lovely for you."

"You should watch your language," she told him, while grabbing another sample. "Someday, some little old lady might decide to wash your mouth out with soap."

"Then she'd get a blaster bolt to the face," he growled and let his hand drop to the very impressive blaster he carried, holstered at his hip.

She was about to retort when a sudden explosion rocked the air around them.

* * *

Wren was up on his feet and jamming his bucket on even before the shock wave had completely dissipated. With his eyes fixed on the growing pillar of smoke, he ran towards the speeder bike, while at the same activating his comlink.

"Eyat Base this is Sergeant Wren, Case Red. I repeat Case Red. There's been an explosion at," he quickly checked the grid map of Eyat on his HUD, "Grid 64. I repeat. Explosion at grid coordinates 64." Another detonation at a site in the industrial area. _And he's ahead of schedule, _he thought furiously. _He's always waited a week in-between his attacks. _Then he snarled in silent fury at himself. _Karking _stoopa koochoo. _You let yourself get lulled by a pattern. _

Something small and colorful dashed passed him and Wren only had a moment to identify it as the strange little Jedi, before she slid behind the controls of their speeder bike, revving the engines.

_Fierfek she's fast, _he marveled. Aside from her leap earlier, that was the first time he had seen her display any of the identifying Jedi traits. And though he was annoyed that she had ursurped his place at the controls, he slipped in behind her on the bike without a word. As soon as he was seated they shot off.

"Sergeant Wren, do you copy?" It was Teller, the communications officer from the base. "We are dispatching a response team now."

"Copy that," Wren bit out. He was having trouble concentrating on the exchange, because he was quite frankly holding on for dear life to the handlebars at the side of the bike. Ro was busy maneuvering the bike out of the relatively quiet government block and through Eyat's busy city center streets, taking the shortest way towards the industrial part of the town. Which also happened to be the most commonly used route in all of Eyat. Traffic was heavy and Ro was cutting in and out of lanes into spaces, which Wren could have sworn were too small for the bike. And she was doing so at a speed that caused sweat to run down his face, despite the armor's environmental controls.

And then it got really scary. Ro's head suddenly shot up, causing her long, blond hair to fly out of the collar of her jacket into which she had tucked it before taking off. Her hair slapped against his visor. He caught the heavy mass in his fist and pushed it aside, then almost instantly wished he hadn't. They were heading straight towards a speeder truck.

He shouted, "Watch the kark out!" just as the driver of the truck honked his horn, looking absolutely panicked. _You and me both, pal. _

Seconds before the collision Ro threw her weight to the left, breaking and hitting the gas at the same time. She made a U-turn across the entire four-lane road and cut off groundspeeder traffic on all lanes. Horns blared, breaks squealed, repulsors whined and people shouted, but Ro didn't seem to hear them as she gunned the bike's engines even more and shot off down the road again. In the opposite direction of where they'd been heading.

"What the kriff are you doing?" Wren asked her, having to turn his external speakers up to full volume to be heard above the wind noise and the panicked shouts of other drivers. But she didn't answer him; she didn't have to. Almost as soon as he had voiced his question another explosion tore through the city and this one was much closer. Wren looked up and saw a pillar of fire as well as smoke shoot up into the air and he started to curse hard and vicious. _That's in the middle of the residential complex. _

It seemed their bomber was done playing according to the rules.

Ro seemed to feel the same way. Apparently deciding that ground traffic was too slow, Ro made a sharp turn to the right, driving the bike off the road and onto the sidewalk. People scattered like leaves, screaming in panic and shouting obscenities, but Ro didn't stay there long. Another sharp turn that made him feel like he'd left his stomach behind them and they were suddenly in an alley using Eyat's back ways and yards as a shortcut.

With a skill that defied all logic, Ro managed to maneuver the bike past even the sharpest and narrowest turns and doing so at the 74's top speed, a near five-hundred km/h. At one point, she made so close a turn that the bike was lying practically on its side and Wren's armored knee skidded across the permacrete. At that point, Wren had to fling his arms around Ro's waist for purchase, though her slim form felt so frail, it was hardly reassuring. He'd be safer grasping at a straw.

Then she braked and Wren was nearly thrown over the front of the bike by the sudden force of their deceleration.

"Who," he gasped, "the fek taught you how to drive?"

Ro cast him a quick glance over her shoulder, her teal eyes holding just a hint of merriment, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Me, of course." Then her face became as serious as he had ever seen it and they both looked ahead, towards the scene of destruction.

The building that had been the epicenter of the blast was gone, no more than a blazing inferno. The residential buildings to either side had caught fire as well and were quickly being consumed by the blaze. There was a thick crowd of crying and screaming people around the scene, so dense, that they were obscuring any direct paths towards the buildings. In the distance, Wren could hear sirens approaching. He craned his neck and saw more people stumbling and hurrying out of the two burning buildings. There was an odd smell in the air, something he could detect even through the filters of his helmet. The smell had to be coming from the thick, greyish-black clouds that billowed out of the flames.

Ro was concentrating on the buildings with that same slightly distracted look all Jedi seemed to acquire when using the Force. "The right building is empty," she told him. "But there are still people trapped in the one on the left."

He automatically opened his mouth to ask her how she knew that, then he forcefully shut it again. Of course she would know. She might not be like any Jedi he had ever worked with before, but she was still a Jedi.

She turned towards him. "I'm going in."

"Did you chew too much _loca_-weed for breakfast?" he asked her and pointed towards the blazing building. "The whole ground floor is on fire. You'll never get through and it's only a matter of time till the whole kriffing building collapses." As if to prove his point, the right building collapsed with a groan in a shower of sparks and shooting tongues of flame. With the collapse, a blast of heated air was pushed towards them, which Wren could feel even through the armor. Fierfek, that fire must be blazing at over a thousand degrees for residual heat to penetrate the armor's sealing at this distance.

The crowd screamed and backed up even further, trying to escape the intense heat and the burning pieces of debris thrown their way by the force with which the building had collapsed. Wren could now see the flashing lights of the firefighters and Eyat's police coming through the sidestreets.

"Then that's all the more reason to act fast," she said, her chin raised in determination. "You get the crowd to disperse and I go after those trapped people."

Wren looked up at the still standing building. With the help of his HUD, he could see figures on the seventh floor of the apartment complex, frantically waving arms through the windows. They wouldn't survive long; it was only a question of what would kill them first: the fire, the smoke or the heat.

"How the kriff are you gonna get up there?" he asked her. He could see the external stairs were mostly eaten away by flames and the first of the access balconies was too high up to climb.

"Leave that to me," she told him. Then her lips formed that by now familiar smile, full of mischief and fun. "And, cookie," she told him. "Be ready to catch."

He was about to reply and very hotly about her calling him "cookie" when she was gone from his side. Half incredulous, half amused, he watched as she jumped upwards and actually used the shoulders and heads of the surrounding crowd as stepping-stones. Propelling herself from one person to the next, she briefly disappeared from his view when she cleared the crowd. He saw her again as she raced across the neat lawn that fronted all three buildings. With another gravity defying jump, she propelled herself upwards towards a canopy that hung above the entrance of the apartment next to the burning building. Though close to the fire, it had not yet succumbed to the blaze. Using the canopy like a trampoline, Ro compacted her body into a small ball, then shot upwards, catching hold of a flag post on the fourth floor of the building. Using the pole like a gymnast would use a high bar, Ro did a complete three-hundred-and-sixty degree swing, building up moment before she let go of the pole and used the arc of the swing to propel herself feet-first through the fifth floor window of the burning building.

"Damned crazy Jedi," he muttered and couldn't quite conceal his admiration.

* * *

**Translation: **_stoopa =_ stupid,_ koochoo _= idiot, _loca _= crazy


	10. Chapter 9: Into the Flames

…**.Into the Flames**

"_Let us consider that we are all partially insane. It will explain us to each other; it will unriddle many riddles; it will make clear and simple many things which are involved in haunting and harassing difficulties and obscurities now."_

_- Mark Twain _

* * *

As the seconds ticked by until his present was revealed, he could not help but feel an explosion of glee and satisfaction course through him, as potent as what awaited the residents of the apartment block.

Outwardly, of course, he remained composed. The Rational had reminded him many times over now that he must remain inconspicuous if he wanted to pursue this course of action. And he did, so he kept his anticipatory feelings on the inside.

And then the hour of revelation arrived and the ground shook with the explosion and flames began to tear through the windows and the building and the people inside disintegrated into ashes in an instant of intense glory. His entire being burned along, consumed with the success of his art. His hunger was finally being stilled.

And there were others who came to gaze upon his masterpiece and they were awed and stunned and cowed as they should be in the face of such wonder. He remained in the background, watching it all avidly, basking in the screams and the fear and the tiny, insignificant flaming sheep that struggled against their fate of becoming one with his magnum opus.

But then his eye caught on something that marred the perfection of his creation. A small figure in bright clothing dashed through the escaping crowd, not running away from the flames in fear, but heading straight towards one of the houses that had caught fire after the initial explosion. He frowned as the figure leaped and twisted in an acrobatic display, only to shoot through the fifth story window of the burning building.

What insanity was this?

The Rational did not know either. **_But I will remember. I will think on it._**

* * *

_A residential block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (24 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

_I'm totally insane, _Ro thought, even as she brought her arms up crosswise over her face and her feet impacted with the glass of the window, shattering it in the process. Ro twisted, then rolled along the floor in a short somersault before leaping to her feet once more. The heat inside from the fire on the floors below her was immediately palpable. Sweat broke out all over her body and the air was so hot, it seemed too solid to breathe in. Ro tried to take a steadying breath only to start coughing. The greyish-black smoke filtering up from between the floorboards was sharp, acrid and chemical, not at all what she had expected from a structure that was mostly duraplast and wood. _Something's not right, _she thought and brought the sleeve of her jacket up to cover her mouth and nose. _None of the other sites burned like this and this does not smell like ordinary smoke. And it's way too hot for this to be a detonite sourced fire. _But she couldn't spend more time analyzing the situation. She could hear the cries of the people trapped above her and the roaring of the flames from below coming ever closer.

_Time to move. _Ro dashed up the stairs, using the Force to pinpoint the exact location of the trapped denizens. They were on the seventh floor, the top one, all of them huddled together at the end of that hallway. She was gasping by the time she got there, her lungs burning with the effort, despite the fact that she was in top physical shape. It was the heat and the smoke she knew and if she was this affected by it, then it had to be far worse for the ordinary people trapped inside this burning husk.

Coming to the seventh floor, Ro could see that there were nine in total. There were six Humans, three men and two women, one of which was holding a screaming child of about three to her chest. The other three figures turned out to be Marits, their red eyes frantic, slitted nostrils flaring widely at the acrid smoke. All of the people were sweaty, gasping and coughing from the heat and the smoke, but the Marits appeared more affected than the Humans. Their normally bright scales had gone dull in fright and their scaly hides had cracked in places, bleeding pale green ichor. They were all huddled around the window facing to the side, towards another neighbouring building. The small window, barely big enough for one person to squeeze through, was the only source of fresh air in the stifling hallway and probably the only reason why these people hadn't suffocated yet.

When the people heard Ro coming up the stairs, they all turned towards her, afraid and close to absolute panic.

"Who...are you?" One of the men asked, his words broken up by long, hacking gasps of air. "A firefighter?" His voice sounded dubious, but tentatively hopeful.

Ro shook her head, even as she tried to come up with an escape plan. None of these people could manage the acrobatics needed to get out of the building the same way she had come in. "I'm a Jedi," she told the assembled crowd and saw and felt an immediate brightening in them, a small burst of hope. _Amazing how that one word can affect people so strongly, _she thought and found herself amused despite the direness of the situation.

The woman holding the child began to sob hysterically in relief. "Then we're saved," she cried and came at Ro, hugging the slender girl to her frantically, nearly crushing Ro and the small child in the process.

"Not quite," Ro said and gently disentangled herself from the woman, who looked ready to collapse. "We still need to figure out a way to get you all out of here."

"How did you get here? Can't we take that way out?" one of the Marits asked.

"Not unless you can jump down five stories using the flagpole and canopy from the building next door as a purchase," she told them and began taking in the hallway itself.

The woman with the child began to wail along with her toddler, but Ro shut her and the others resolutely out. Right now, she couldn't afford to get distracted by their distress. She could hear the fire getting closer, eating its way up and the heat and smoke was getting worse, making it difficult to breathe and see. She took in the hallway and found that there were no fire hoses in the corridor, nor even fire extinguishers, something she thought very strange. From what she had gathered, the Marits had built everything in Eyat and the other cities as per regulations. She turned back to the group.

"Are there any fire extinguishers in the apartments?" she asked them. "Fire blankets, anything?"

One of the men began to cough, but still managed to answer. "Each apartment has a fire blanket in the kitchen. But the extinguishers haven't arrived yet. The government blocks have the priority," he added bitterly and coughed again.

_Figures, _Ro thought. "Alright then, I need all of you to gather the blankets from every apartment here." And she gestured at the rows of doors that lined the corridor.

"What for?" the second Human woman asked. Her mouth had a sour line to it and her tone was quarrelsome, even now. One of those, Ro figured, who always had to start a fight. "What are blankets going to do for us?"

There was a resounding crash and the entire building seemed to groan and tremble in agony as something of the superstructure on one of the floors below them collapsed. _Probably the stairs, _Ro thought, remembering all that wood used for the banisters.

"For one," she told the woman. "It will keep you from incurring burns when those flames work themselves up to us. Can't you feel the heat?"

The woman's mulish expression had turned fearful, because yes, she could feel the heat and it was getting closer, fast.

_Far too fast, _Ro realized. _And it's still far too hot. No way this fire is just from the bomb's explosion. _Ro, feeling the panic beginning to rise in the trapped people, projected a wall of _calm_ and _confidence_ at them, trying to head off any more hysteria. She needed these people as calm and cooperative as she could manage.

It seemed to be working. The man who had asked her about being a firefighter took charge, turning to the others and giving brisk orders. Most of these people lived on this floor, so getting the blankets from their apartments was no problem, but there were three that belonged to other denizens and Ro used one of her lightsabers on the security locks, slicing through the wires and thereby activating the emergency overrides, which caused the doors to open.

The woman with the child did not participate. She remained huddled in the hallway, her child clutched close to her chest. The toddler was crying frantically, his pitiful wails turning to hacking coughs every now and then. His face was beginning to glow an alarming shade of red. The mother tried to soothe him, but she was too frightened herself. Ro came over to the two and gently pressed the woman down into a sitting position.

"Keep low," she told her, raising her voice to be heard above the fire. "It'll help with the smoke." Then she untied her rainbow-colored scarf and tore the thin material in two. She unclipped the small water flask from her belt and doused one of the strips of cloth with a goodly portion of her water. Gently she wiped at the toddler's face, cooling him down momentarily, before tying that half of her scarf around his nose and mouth. The material was gauzy enough to act as an air filter, without impeding the child's breathing too much.

"Watch him carefully!" Ro yelled at the woman. "Make sure he can get enough air through that." The woman nodded, then accepted the second half of Ro's scarf for her own impromptu filter mask.

And all the while, she was working on a way to get these people out.

Luckily, Ro had always been pretty good at coming up with ideas under pressure. Her eyes fell on the ornamental columns that lined the hallway, an attempt by the architects to give the building more class than it deserved. Ro touched one of the columns at the far end of the hallway, close to the window, with her hands, trying to determine if it was made of real wood or some less sturdy synthetic. She was in luck; it was real wood, a commodity in no short supply on heavily forested Gaftikar.

Ro turned towards the assembled people; all nine of them now bundled into the golden fire retardant blankets. She hoped the blankets could also stave off some of the encroaching heat, which was becoming oppressive. They had huddled around her in an instinctive plea for protection.

"You have to give me some room," she told them, having to raise her voice over the growing roar of the flames. They were running out of time.

Another Marit, a male, spoke up. "Why? What are you going to do?"

Ro lit up her lightsaber, the dark blue blade, edged with purple springing to life with a _vzzuumm, _that vibrated in her ears. It was a beautiful and comforting sound to her, but the group of nine backed off.

"I'm going to get us out of here," she told them, then added silently, _I hope you're ready to catch, Wren._

Ro leapt up, slicing through the top of the column with a neat slash of the blade. She landed in a crouch, whirled and sliced through the base. The lightsaber's blade had done the job so quickly and thoroughly, that the column did not even shudder as it was separated from its supports.

She turned back to the people, who were looking at her in incomprehension. "I need your help now," she told them and began to cough. The air was turning foul and dense with a smoke that burned in her nose and lungs. She knew she should be telling these people to crouch down on the ground, to avoid the rising clouds of smoke, but she needed them. "I need you all to push with me against the column," she explained.

"Why?" the mulish woman demanded. "What's the point?"

There was another groan from the building and everyone looked up instinctively in alarm. But the danger wasn't coming from above, but from below. The fire had reached the floor right below them and had eaten its way through most of the support beams in the ceiling; the ceiling that was their floor.

Ro sensed the danger only moments before it was too late. She propelled herself over the heads of the people standing about her, landed next to the mother with her child, who were still crouched low in the middle of the hallway where Ro had left them. Ro grabbed the woman by the arm and threw her forward with all her strength. Mother and child both screamed in surprise but were saved from a nasty tumble by an elderly man, who just managed to catch them.

With the mounting heat burning itself through her light shoes, Ro flung herself forwards just as the floorboards beneath her gave way with a noise that sounded very close to anguish. Almost a third of the hallway collapsed, the floorboards close to the stairs Ro had come through crashing down into the inferno below. With this fresh supply of fuel and a sudden increase in oxygen flow, the fire bellowed like a gundark scenting victory and sent shooting tongues of flame through the hole, searching for more to feed on. The flames briefly licked at the ceiling, leaving charred wood in their wake. Tiny pieces of burning debris were flung up with them and the fire blankets proved to be a lifesaver. They protected Ro's group of huddled civilians from those small bits of glowing lights. Ro had to contend with ducking her head and throwing her arms over her face in an effort to avoid serious burns.

Then the fire billowed outward, began to crawl along the walls like little fingers eagerly exploring a new toy. And they took hold.

The people about her screamed hysterically and backed themselves against the far wall beneath the window.

Apparently deciding that they had nothing left to lose, the oldest of the Human men turned towards the quarrelsome woman. "Just do what she says!" he yelled at her and threw himself against the column. No one hesitated after that. All of them, except for the woman with the toddler, put their weight against the heavy column. The thing didn't budge at first, then slowly began to wobbly.

"Again!" Ro yelled, as flames began to work themselves further up the side of the walls. There was one more desperate push and then the column gave way. Ro thanked the stars that she had always been a good judge of spatial dimensions. The column fell just as she had hoped, right through the window, shattering the glass and much of the plaster wall beneath it. It came to rest with a shudder, over a third of it hanging straight into the air outside, steadied somewhat by the surrounding duraplast. Fresh air rushed at them almost immediately, momentarily cooling their overheated skins, but Ro turned back towards the flames with a knowing, sick feeling. The tear in the wall had created a backdraft and the sudden input of even more oxygen caused the fire to grow, making it nearly gush through the hole into what was left of their corridor.

"Look what you did!" The mulish woman yelled. "You've killed us all!"

"Not part of my job description," Ro told the woman, then gripped her by the shoulders and propelled her towards the fallen column. "Now walk!"

The woman stared at her as if she'd gone completely insane. Ro pointed sternly at the column. "Go out there and then jump!"

"I-I can't. I mean, I…" she started to cry.

Ro had no time to dawdle or to soothe her. She gripped the woman with a strength that belied her slim frame and began to drag her onto the column and then out into the open. The woman gave a startled cry, then practically threw herself at Ro, nearly unbalancing them both. Ro gritted her teeth and had to do some fancy footwork for a few seconds to keep both herself and the woman on the column, hanging out into empty air. When she had regained her balance, Ro began to walk towards the very edge of the column and the woman, refusing to give up her death grip around Ro's neck, was forced to walk with her. Ro was only glad that the column was wide enough to allow for two people to walk on it, as long as one of those two people was a very slim girl, who had enough of a sense of balance to walk mostly on the rounded edge. _I should have run off and joined the circus, _she thought ruefully. _I would have made a killing as an acrobat. _

There was shouting from below and Ro could see that the crowd of people from earlier was still there, though much farther back now. There was a protective ring of emergency vehicles surrounding the three burning buildings and firefighters, clones and police were running about, trying to put out the blazes, tend to the wounded and keep the crowd under control. There was more shouting as the gathered onlookers spotted Ro and the woman; they began to point up at them, frantically. Reaching the very edge of the column, Ro looked straight down and saw a group of clones spreading a huge net between them. Among them was a helmet with twin crimson lightning bolts.

"When this is over, I'm going to bake a whole ship full of cookies for that man."

"What?" the woman asked her, utterly senseless with fright. Ro smiled at her reassuringly.

"I said, it's time to jump." And she pushed the woman away from her and over the edge. For a moment, the Human tried to regain her balance, pinwheeling her arms, but it was no use. With a screech that would have shattered glass, she went over the edge. Ro peeked over the edge of the column to see the net pulled inward by the woman's weight. "One down," she muttered, then turned to gesture for the next person to follow.

As it turned out, the Marits had relatively little trouble keeping their balance on the rounded column. Their scaled feet were equipped with claws which were able to dig into the wood for added purchase and their tails lent them extra balance. And they apparently did not suffer from a fear of heights, all of which enabled them to walk down the column in a relatively ordered fashion and without Ro's assistance, despite the fact that they were nearly boneless from the heat.

The Humans were not so cooperative. Though the flames had forced them to the very edge of the hallway and the smoke was so thick now, the air was barely breathable, Ro had to walk all five of them over the column. Before he jumped off, the old man who had yelled at the woman to follow Ro's orders gripped her upper arms with bruising strength.

"Don't dawdle!" he yelled. "It's only a matter of time before the building collapses!"

Ro had nodded her understanding. She'd been worrying about the same thing. It was a miracle the building had remained standing for as long as it had.

"Warn those below!" She'd yelled back, more as an incentive to get him moving. She had no doubt that the firefighters were already aware of the danger. But her order had the desired effect. With a mission to motivate him, the man had jumped without further fuss.

Though it could not have taken more than three minutes, it seemed like an eternity to Ro until the last person, the mother and her little son, had jumped out of the makeshift exit and into the net.

Ro stood at the edge of the column, alternating her gaze between the people on the ground, who were in the process of readying the net for her, and the flames that were now licking at the base of column, working their way towards her. Already Ro could feel the column weakening, dipping slightly forwards. She coughed, even though she was standing in fresh air. Her throat burned with pain and her skin felt tight from the heat. She was also dizzy from dehydration and her eyes burned painfully. Below her, the fires from all three houses were still raging. For some reason, the water and the extinguishing foam weren't making any real progress in subduing the flames. Already the rescue workers below had had to move further away from the building, meaning that Ro would have to angle her jump carefully to land on the net.

At times like these, she really wished she were stronger in the Force. For her brother Garett, a jump from seven stories would have been no problem, net or no. But she did have the Force and at that moment, awareness rippled through her; a warning that stabbed at her like a knife between her ribs.

Ro did not hesitate. She took a leap of faith.

* * *

_Earlier..._

Wren hadn't spent much time musing about the insanities of Jedi. Once the girl – _Ro _– disappeared into the flaming building, he'd turned his mind towards other tasks. Like getting the gawkers out of the way.

Wren used the speakers in his bucket to emit a mixed burst of static and sonic blasts meant to both draw the crowd's attention, as well as cow them into submission. It worked, nearly half of the mass backed away from him in skittish, nervous movements, their hands clapped over their ears.

"Everyone!" He barked out. "Move the kriff back!" Those that did not react fast enough, he helped along with a good shove or a firm kick to the ass. Sometimes, that was what people needed. He managed to bully a way for the emergency vehicles to get through, then rooted through the onlookers for able bodies that seemed bright enough to actually lend a useful hand. Those unwilling to volunteer, he grabbed by their collars and dragged them kicking and screaming into service.

By the time Gaff and about thirty troopers arrived at the site, Wren had more or less managed to terrify and terrorize the crowd and the firefighters into the best positions. He left the paramedics alone, because he knew very well the limits of his knowledge and how best to set up a triage area and treat a bunch of burned and scared civvies was not one of them. Besides, doing the tango with Grievous would be less hazardous than annoying medics. Those guys had access to a lot of sharp instruments and an intimate knowledge of where best to stick them.

"Sergeant!" Gaff called, running towards Wren at full speed. "Where's the commander?"

Wren shot the man an irritated look, forgetting for the moment that he was wearing his bucket and that Gaff could therefore not see the full extent of his displeasure.

"Really?" He ground out. "That's the first thing you want to know?"

Gaff's body went rigid at the criticism, automatically assuming that command stance Wren was starting to believe was engineered into the officers. "Sergeant, the commander's location. Now."

Utterly exasperated, Wren gestured towards the building to the left, which was now completely in flames up to the sixth story. "In there."

Wren couldn't see Gaff's face, but he didn't have to. A clone learned to read body language to the greatest of precision and right now, Gaff's body was practically shouting stunned surprise and dismay.

"She's…"

Wren cut the commander's question off. "She's a Jedi and can handle herself. We need to fekking well handle this fardling mess." He turned to stare pointedly at the troopers that had followed Gaff, standing idly at the edge of the scene, awaiting instructions.

"Your orders, Commander?" Wren asked caustically.

To his credit, Gaff managed to recover quickly. He turned away from Wren and started barking orders at the troopers who then scrambled to their assigned stations with alacrity. When he was done, Gaff turned back to Wren.

"Status?" He demanded.

Wren decided now was not the time for sarcasm. "The initial explosion was an apartment house in the middle." And he gestured towards the building that was now nothing more than a burning outline. The heat coming from it was even more intense than when he had first arrived and it was getting worse. "Burning debris must have been blown towards the neighboring buildings and they too caught fire. The Jedi detected people trapped on the seventh floor of the left building and embarked on a rescue. No sign of her so far." And he paused to throw a quick look at the building in question. There was nothing. He wondered if she was dead already. It must be as kriffing hot as all nine Corellian hells in there.

"A triage area has been set up and several burn victims have already been brought to the nearest hospitals," he continued, then leaned closer to Gaff, cutting the external speaker and going to a private comm channel. "There's something off here," he told Gaff. "This is nothing like the other three attacks and not just because he broke with his schedule." He pointed towards the burning buildings, where flames continued to shoot out despite the powerful streams of water dousing them. "That's no ordinary fire. I caught sight of some of those burn victims. I've seen plenty of burns on the field, but never something like this. It's like it ate its way through the flesh, like acid rather than flames."

Gaff too switched to the private channel. "What does that mean?" he asked, sounding both worried and curious.

Wren was about to ask him how the fek he was supposed to know, when there was a sudden crash and people began to scream and shout. Wren saw a few of the onlookers pointing upwards and to the left and looked in that direction as well. One of the walls on the seventh floor facing the neighboring building – the one that wasn't on fire – had collapsed outward. There was something protruding from the hole. Through his HUD, Wren saw that it was a rounded, wooden column. Then two people appeared on the column; one the robust form of a Human female in her thirties, the other, a small and brightly colored figure, with long pale blond-blue hair fluttering in the wind.

"_Be ready to catch." _The words came back to him now and as Wren realized what she was about to do, he cursed. "Kriffing _echooba_ poodoo Jedi." He ran off towards a group of firefighters, leaving Gaff behind, shouting after him. Even as he cursed her, Wren had to admire that crazy little Jedi's scheme. She was either brilliant or utterly warped.

He grabbed one of the firefighters operating the automated water pumps. "Net!" He yelled at the startled man, shaking him slightly in his urgency and nearly causing him to drop the controls he was holding. "We need a kriffing net." Wren pointed up towards the figures on the column and understanding dawned in the sweating, sooty face. The man yelled towards his colleagues and soon they produced a large, round piece of net.

"We won't be able to get close enough," the firefighter told Wren, even as others handed over the net. "The heat is too intense, even for our suits." And he gestured despairingly at his bright yellow, fire retardant uniform.

"How karking lucky for you then that I know a bunch of people who love to volunteer for mindless heroics," Wren drawled and turned to call for the nearest squad of troopers.

But before he had time to even gather his breath, Gaff was standing next to him with another seven troopers in tow. "We'll take it from here," the commander told the firefighters. "Our armor can take the heat better than yours can." The man nodded and wordlessly handed the net over.

"Good luck out there," he told the troopers. "And make it fast. We shut down the tibanna gas lines, but there's no way that building will remain standing for long." Then he turned back towards the controls, his face set as he attempted to establish the right mixture of mass and pressure that might extinguish the raging flames.

The troopers raced towards the burning building. Wordlessly, they positioned themselves in the optimum spot, a few meters to the far side of the protruding end of the column, where the air pressures and the trajectory of the fall would most likely deposit the people preparing to jump from the doomed structure. The clones spread the net between them in a move so synchronized and smooth, it was as if they'd been doing this all their lives. _It pays to be a clone sometimes, _Wren thought and for a brief moment felt some of the emptiness inside of him, that had been plaguing him for so long, diminish just a little.

But not even the satisfaction of perfect, unspoken cooperation could cancel out the fact that they were standing dangerously close to an out of control fire. The heat pressed against them, causing the environmental alarms in the HUDs to flash red with warning, signalling that the suits were struggling to keep the clones at optimal body temperature.

_We're only standing next to fire,_ he thought, _and we're already in danger of frying. How many of those trapped inside are even going to come out alive? _

A shrill scream from above was the only warning they had to alert them to the fact that someone had jumped.

Even before the body impacted with the net, Wren knew it wasn't Ro. He may have only met her yesterday, but somehow, he could not imagine that scrappy little thing emitting such a shriek. Fighting to keep his grip on the net, he also knew that Ro could not possibly weigh this effing much. They lowered the net to the ground and Wess made his way towards the Human woman, who was still shrieking bloody murder. Wess nearly had to carry her off of the net, a process that to Wren felt far too time consuming. He wondered how much time the people trapped in the building still had, before the entire structure collapsed. The building to the far right had certainly buckled in an awful hurry.

He didn't have any more time to wonder. As soon as they had the net stretched taunt between them again, the next person landed in it. Soon, Wren's arms were beginning to protest the strain and sweat was running down his cheeks and back, despite the armor's environmental controls. Gaff had been right; the armor did protect the clones from the high temperatures surrounding the burning building better than what the firefighters had, but that did not mean the suits - or the men wearing them - were fireproof. Enough heat and the plastoid could melt and the clones could easily overheat and collapse. Wren already felt as if his tongue were permanently plastered to the roof of his mouth. He was bone dry, but he was definitely faring better than some of the rookies, who apparently had never been required to assemble blasters hot to the touch in a room heated to a temperature that would have made a Tusken Raider faint.

Wess' status icon in his HUD was flashing alarmingly. The medic was overexerting himself by both helping to hold the net and taking care of those who'd jumped. But Wren knew that Gaff couldn't order him to desist. There was no one else to take his place, either at the net or as a medic.

_Some of that fancy Katarn stuff would come in handy right about now, _he thought, as an elderly Human male fell into the net. Wren had seen some of the commandos in action and knew that their Katarn rig could withstand the heat from a thermite bomb and their live support systems were also far more advanced, with extra built-in redundancies. But of course, Katarn armor was far more expensive than regular plastoid and the Republic had no desire to spend more on its army than it absolutely had to.

With such cheerful thoughts to occupy his mind, Wren grit his teeth against the pain in his arms and back as the old man scrambled to his feet with admirable alacrity, but he seemed unwilling to be led away by Wess. He shook the medic off with impatience, stumbling towards Wren, who was the nearest clone. "The building!" He shouted over and over again, his voice going hoarse with the effort to be heard over the roaring fire and the shouting firefighters. Wren slanted a look at the man and decided he was definitely heat-crazed. Under the layer of soot, his skin was a lobster red and his eyes were wild and bloodshot. "It'll collapse! Should have collapsed long before! You need to get those people out! Out!"

_Thanks for shouting what we already fekking well know,_ Wren thought acidly as he gave the man a push to his skinny chest, forcing him to stumble backwards, right into Wess' arms. As if Wren could have forgotten the fact that each moment they were standing here, the fire would have devoured more and more of the building's superstructure.

He craned his neck to stare up at the column above them and saw Ro, helping another Human female with a small child in her arms across the column. _We're running out of time. _"Get a move on!" He yelled at both the Jedi and her burden and the troopers around him. The Jedi probably hadn't heard him - the fire was too loud - but Wess managed to haul the old man away to the triage station and take his place at the net again in a reasonable amount of time.

The woman and the child jumped, their screams pitched so high, they were almost nothing more than thin wails. When they landed, the net strained under the double burden and the troopers had to throw they weight backwards to keep themselves from being pulled inwards and off of their feet. They lowered the net gently to the ground, revealing the mother curled protectively around her child. Despite some rainbow-colored material - which Wren recognized all too well - covering their noses and mouths, both mother and child were hacking and coughing at an alarming rate, barely able to catch their breaths. Wess didn't bother leading them away. He scooped up the mother along with the toddler and raced towards the nearest waiting ambulance. Wren realized that it wasn't just the flames they had to worry about. The filters in his bucket protected him, but clearly the fumes from the fire were more dangerous than he had thought. So far, no one had fainted from carbon dioxide poisoning, but that cough had sounded bad. _Really bad._

He glanced back up again, but his view of the seventh floor was almost completely obscured now by the heavy smoke and the rising flames.

Gaff yelled at them to move further away from the building, away from the ever increasing heat that was beginning to overwhelm the armor's resistance. The sensors of his HUD told Wren that on the first and second floor, temperatures had risen to over two-thousand degrees.

Why wasn't the water working? There were over a dozen hoses now turned on the three burning buildings, but the masses of water seemed to barely register on the growing inferno. How could that be?

There was a shout from one of the troopers, who pointed upwards. Wren looked and was just in time to see a small figure leaping from the column. But they weren't ready! The net was still lying limply on the ground.

Then there was a sharp, reverberating _crack! _coming from behind them. With a last mortal creak and moan, what had remained of the building's frame so far collapsed. Seven stories of duraplast, wood, permacrete, durasteel and tons of other material fell inward with the force of an explosion, pushing waves of hot air outwards.

The troopers, already in the act of moving away, were caught in the wave of the building's collapse. Wren was thrown onto his back, burning debris falling on and around him. The sensors of his HUD shrieked warnings at him, until he had to shut off the sound. Then his eyes caught on a tiny figure midair. The Jedi had been caught in mid-leap by the percussive force of the collapsing building, her body flung completely off trajectory as a result. She was heading for a painful and most likely deadly crash on the permacrete.

Wren scrambled to his feet and took off, ignoring the protests of his newly bruised body. He threw a look over his shoulder, making some quick calculations, then flung his arms out, half-leaping into the air himself.

Ro's body impacted forcefully with his and Wren closed his arms around her, even as the breath was knocked from his lungs and he was thrown backwards by the added weight. For the second time in a span of seconds, he was sent skidding backwards on his back. He curled his body around her as best he could, protecting her from the skid. He had his armor, but her skin would be shredded.

When they finally came to a halt, the two of them clung to each other for a moment, both breathless. He lifted his head slightly to regard her, meeting her teal eyes. She was filthy; her face streaked with soot and tracks of sweat, her clothes in little better condition. Her hair, once straight and shiny, was pretty much a windblown rat's nest.

"You know," he said, unable to help himself, "I usually prefer being on top."

His quip was greeted with a sunny smile and a wink. "Can't have everything in life."

Before he could reply there was a second crash and Wren instinctively rolled over, switching their positions. As burning debris rained down on them, he curved one arm above her head, forcing her face into the crook of his neck and shoulders, his armored body covering as much of her as he could. Which wasn't all that hard, considering how much smaller and slighter she was compared to him.

Wren held the position, waiting for the shower of debris to end, then waited a few seconds longer to be sure. Cautiously he raised his head, scanning the surroundings for any more surprises. He very well remembered the danger of a shrapnel rain from his time on Kamino. An agonized cough drew his attention back to the girl wedged beneath him.

Ro was hacking, gasping for breath, sweat pearling down her face in thick rivulets. Quickly, Wren propped himself on one arm, giving her more room to breathe. She actually managed to smile at him, even through the tears streaming down her dirty face.

"This how you always get your way with the girls?" she asked, once the coughing fit had passed.

"Hardly," he replied. "I never have to expend this much energy to _get _the girl."

She laughed, though it sounded raspy. "Guess I'm just special then."

"In more ways than one," he replied drily. At her bemused expression, he quickly added, "Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type. I like my females toting better kit." And he pointedly stared down at her rather modest chest.

She laughed at that, a merry sound that abruptly ended in more coughing. Wren frowned, remembering the mother and child and Wess' concerned reaction. "You need to see a medic," he said and got to his feet, suddenly aware that he had been lying on top of her for far longer than had been necessary. He wondered how she did that, just pulling him into a conversation. He never talked this much to a female, even the ones he spent his R&R with.

Ro held out a hand for him to pull her up with, but he ignored her. He might have just saved her life, but that sure as hell did not mean he was going to start acting all...all _chivalrous. _He was not Gaff. She was the one who'd gotten herself into this mess, so she could just climb back onto her own two feet under her own power.

She threw him a pout for his recalcitrance, but she did manage to get back on her own feet on her own, though she swayed a little in the process. And she was still coughing.

Wren escorted her back to the medics, telling himself that he had nothing better to do anyways. And if he kept his armored body between her and the three burning buildings then that was solely coincidence.

Behind them, the fires continued to rage, the heat pressed onwards unrelentingly and the sky darkened to an early dusk with clouds of ominous smoke.


	11. Chapter 10: Distractions

**Distractions**

"_Work is hard. Distractions are plentiful. And time is short."_

_- Adam Hochschild_

* * *

He was both satisfied and put out at the effect his present had had. On the one hand, the result had simply been magnificent and he eagerly filled his lungs with the smell of smoke, burning flesh and the heat of the fire. The screams of the crowd around him, the wailing of the wounded…it was music of the finest kind. How utterly gratifying to be finally working again with the medium of his choice.

A smile came to his lips. How utterly wonderful to be on the hunt once more.

But ever since seeing that small streak of color racing towards the flames, The Rational had been clamouring inside of his head. It whispered and hissed and tugged at him. _**Away,** _it said. **_Leave, now. _**

He didn't want to. What was the point of revealing a masterpiece to the world, if one did not stay through the entire gala. This was his moment, his pleasure. Why could The Rational not see this? Particularly because The Rational itself did not know why it had become so upset.

But it's continuous jabbering spoiled his mood and finally, it uttered a word that did penetrate his conscious mind. **_Danger. _**

He inhaled, wavered, but determined to go. If there was one usage The Rational had, it was determining threats and he had not come so far by ignoring its advice. Though it rankled him, turned his pleasure into sourness, he heeded The Rational's prodding and left behind the scene of his revelation.

Stuffing his balled fists into the pocket of his jacket, he scowled at his boots while making his unobtrusive way back. But the cacophony of the flames intermingling with the sirens and the chaos of the crowd followed him and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He'd thought it would be enough; that one present might still his hunger. But his appetite had only returned with new ferocity. Maybe, a little more distraction during his work wouldn't hurt.

The Rational said nothing to this. It was too busy mulling over the possible danger it had perceived; trying to put a name to it.

He cast one lingering glance back and then disappeared into the darkness once more.

* * *

_A residential block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (24 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Like the other troopers, Gaff had been thrown off of his feet when the burning building had finally surrendered to the flames and had collapsed in a shower of flaming debris, tongues of fire and a heat so intense, it probably would have flayed the skin off of him, if it hadn't been for the armor.

With a gasp - something very hard had knocked him between the shoulder blades - Gaff propped himself up on his elbows, looking about him to make sure the rest of his men were unhurt. The new Phase II armor was supposed to be able to withstand quite a bit more punishment than the Phase I, but that didn't mean it was fool proof and they had just nearly been hit with several hundred tons of building. Burning building, at that.

Gaff saw one of his troopers leap to his feet in a single, smooth motion, had to time register that it was Wren and then the sergeant dashed off, running in a straight line away from the three raging fires behind them.

_Is he abandoning his brothers? _Gaff thought, stunned. He and the sergeant had never gotten along and there was little Gaff wouldn't think the older trooper capable of, but this? This was…

Then Gaff saw a small, brightly colored figure falling from the sky and he understood. His heart leaped into his throat as he saw that the Jedi was hurtling towards the hard, permacrete ground. Could a Jedi survive a fall like that? On Kamino, he'd been taught that Jedi were great warriors, practically invincible, but she was so small and…

Wren caught her in an impressive display of athleticism and precise calculation and Gaff let out a sigh of relief. A drop of sweat falling into his eye brought him back to his own rather precarious situation. Only seconds had passed between the collapse that had knocked them all to the ground and Wren's mad dash, but Gaff was aware that he had allowed himself to be distracted for far too long. He pushed himself to his feet, racing over to those of his men who were still stunned by the blast and pulling them up.

"Everyone," he called to them. "Up! Now!" Gaff cast a worried glance at the building. Most of the superstructure had given way, but he could still see some skeletal remains of the frame, outlined by the fire, which was in the process of slow collapse. And his HUD sensors were screaming bloody murder at him, most of the environmental systems flicking over to red. They were overheating, unable to cope with the heat coming at them and keeping the suits at a regular temperature. In areas close to the buildings, Gaff could even see the surrounding permacrete bubbling, turning liquid from the heat generated by the fire.

If the temp controls went, then more than likely the troopers would suffocate or cook in their armors. Unless they took of their buckets, in which case they'd be breathing superheated air and that nasty looking smoke. Neither option was acceptable. They needed to evac, right now.

Gaff grabbed Deek by the arm, hauling him up and then shoving him towards the safety cordon set up by the firefighters.

"Move!" he shouted. "Move back!" His troopers obeyed him, running back towards the rest of the rescue effort, who had also begun to draw back. Just in time. There was another roar from the fire, another _crash! _as the rest of the building finally collapsed into a heap. It was the smallest collapse so for, but it still possessed enough force to blow another rain of burning debris onto the troopers.

Gaff instinctively covered his head even as he ran, feeling small hot pieces bouncing off of his armor. One managed to hit one of the gaps for his joints and Gaff gave a painful cry as the thing started to burn its way through the bodyglove beneath. His fingers hastily dug at the gap between the plates, trying to dislodge whatever it was that was burning its way into his skin. He grasped it, scorched his fingers in the process and flung the thing back towards the still burning house. The burns hurt, but a quick assessment showed him that they were nothing incapacitating. He could see Wess about it after they were done here.

Not for the first time was Gaff grateful for having been issued the Phase II when he had left Kamino. It was good kit and had proved itself today. Looking ahead, he saw that all of his men had safely reached the cordon, although Geiger was holding his arm rather tentatively to his chest.

Gaff slowed his pace slightly, chancing a look around. Wren was helping the Jedi back to the circle of ambulances, his body angled between her unprotected form and the three burning buildings, acting as a shield for any further debris. For a moment, Gaff was a little dumbfounded. He never would have thought the sergeant capable of such consideration. In the past two months, the man had shown himself capable of all the compassion of an acklay. Then Gaff zoomed in on the small, dirty face of the Jedi and his heart clenched. She didn't look good. She was bent a little over, her sides heaving as she coughed, though she did not slow her pace. Some of the other people they had rescued had also been coughing pretty badly and Wess had seemed particularly distressed about that. Did that mean she was in danger or seriously injured?

Gaff desperately wanted to go to her. He wanted to stand by her side and...and do something useful for her. He wasn't sure what he could do, given the situation, but he would have liked to repay her for the help she'd given him yesterday. Jedi Ro had faced down an entire room of politicians for him. Couldn't he face down the consequences of her heroism with her in return? And he did _not _want to leave her in the care of Sergeant Wren. The man was utterly uncouth, as well as being rude, insubordinate and downright vicious at times.

_But he saved her, _another voice inside of him argued. _And he took her to the medics. What else is there to do? _The answer to that was nothing. Gaff could do nothing more for the Jedi. She clearly needed medical attention and he only had a rudimentary understanding of such things.

Standing there, at the edge of the cordon, torn between his desire to go to the Padawan and follow the rest of his troopers, Gaff remembered the derisive criticism he'd received from Wren when he and the other troopers had reached the site. Back then, Gaff too had been distracted by thoughts of the Padawan.

The memory of that humiliation - having to be reminded of his duty by the one man at the base who least respected duty - made Gaff turn away from the struggling Padawan and towards the rest of the rescue effort. There was still work, useful work, that he could do here. He was a commander after all. It was time he commanded.

Sweeping the scene with a meticulous eye for detail, Gaff saw that the firefighters had completely given up on trying to extinguish the flames. They were now solely focused on containing the fire, trying to keep it from spreading to any more buildings by dousing the immediate area. The powerful pressure hoses were turned on the other surrounding structures, soaking them and the ornate lawns until the latter resembled a swamp. People were being evacuated from all around, the entire block cleared of residents. Small droids hovered overhead, spraying extinguisher foam on any small blazes. Gaff noticed that, curiously enough, the droids appeared to be having a lot more success in putting out the fires than the firefighters. Unlike the blazes being battled by the organics, the smaller fires being attended to by the droids were put out and stayed out.

_But why? _He wondered. What was the difference between the droids and the firefighters?

He helped a firefighter roll out another hose, having to watch his step on the slick permacrete. There was water everywhere. The firefighter yelled a warning, then turned the hose on a flaming tree, which had decorated one of the front lawns. The water blasted out of the hose, soaking the tree, nearly bending the branches double with the force. The flames seemed to vanish under the onslaught and the firefighter turned the hose toward another target with a practiced swing. Gaff watched as the burned tree smouldered, then smoke rose from the blackened bark and suddenly flames ignited all over again. Gaff called towards the firefighter, who turned back to him with a face awash in astonishment and exhausted dismay. Quickly, he turned the hose back on the tree.

"We can't keep this up," the man yelled at Gaff. "We'll run out of water sooner rather than later!"

Gaff couldn't understand what was happening. He had been in plenty of exercises on Kamino where he had been pitted against fire, but he had never seen flames spontaneously re-combust after they had been put out. He stepped back from a group of rushing paramedics, his boot splashing into water. He looked down and saw a bit of trash floating by him, caught in a rivulet of water and suddenly Gaff understood.

Both the extinguisher foam the droids were spraying and the water from the hoses was meant to deprive fire of oxygen. But water evaporated, or was drawn into the ground or simply flowed away. Flames needed oxygen to thrive, as well as fuel and the moment they came into contact with the water, they were extinguished. The fire itself wasn't the problem. It was the _source of the ignition_ that was. Clearly the bomb had contained some kind of incendiary, which had been spread by the initial explosion. This incendiary needed oxygen to create flames, just like any other substance Gaff knew, but it clearly needed to be permanently deprived of oxygen instead of simply doused. Otherwise, the ignition source was powerful enough to re-combust by itself. That was why the extinguishing foam was working. The stuff stuck to whatever it was sprayed on, then hardened into a tough shell, suffocating the ignition source in the process.

Gaff raced towards the firefighter chief, a man he had spoken to several times since the bombings had started. He grabbed the man by the heavy, yellow coat all firefighters wore.

"We need more extinguishing foam," he told the startled Human.

"What?" the man asked, pushing the clear plastiglass visor from his face. His eyes kept darting away from Gaff, towards his men and the various fires, his mind clearly on other things.

"Extinguishing foam," Gaff repeated and turned the man towards the sight of a small droid, spraying a clump of bushes with the foam. The flames went out and did not start up again as the foam hardened due to prolonged exposure to the air.

"It's the only thing that works," Gaff explained.

The chief's smoke irritated eyes looked from the extinguishing droid to his men, then gave a sharp nod of his bullish head.

"We got more of the stuff," he told Gaff, "but no way to get them into position." He gestured at the droids, agilely flitting about on repulsors. "And the droids aren't big enough to tackle the big blazes. They're only meant as support."

"Let me worry about that," Gaff told him and activated a comm channel to the communications center. "This is Commander Gaff," he told the duty officer. "I want five of the LAAT/i's at these coordinates, ASAP." He flashed the coordinates through the channel, then signed off after getting an affirmative.

The chief had turned away from Gaff, issuing his own orders. Waiting for the larties, Gaff looked about him again, trying to take in the situation, determining where he could best position his men. It was an inbred desire, more than anything else. Gaff liked things neat and organized; something that had always stood him in good grace during his command training at Kamino. He had the ability to take in a situation and untangle the chaos in the most efficient time and manner. He did so now, putting his organizational talent to use as he directed his troopers to help carry the wounded to the triage area, help with carrying the arriving supplies and placed them under the supervision of the more experienced firefighters. There were a good number red uniforms now mixing with the crowd as well, moving the onlookers ever further away from the scene. Aware of the constant strain in relations with the local police department, Gaff pulled his men off of crowd control. That was the territory of the police and he would not encroach. He did not want another shouted lecture from Commissioner Gor'Dan about overstepping his bounds and besides, crowd control was what the police was good at. His troopers had other talents.

Gaff was helping to tear up the lawn to create a small fire break, when he heard the familiar, beloved whine of a LAAT/i. He looked skywards, as did every other trooper about him, but the larties were nothing more than hazy outlines in the dense smoke that hovered over the three buildings, which were still burning, with each creating a heat that was well over two-thousand degrees.

As per his orders, the five gunships approached quickly, hovering over the scene until they found the space Gaff had ordered cleared for them in advance. Seeing the impressive gunships, most of the crowd that had braved the scene until now broke and scattered. Gaff felt some satisfaction well up inside of him at that. It seemed his idea was proving far more versatile than he had thought.

The Fire Chief jogged towards him, glancing occasionally at the now landing gunships.

"The canisters with the extinguishing foam are here," he told Gaff. "I pulled our entire supply. Now what?"

Gaff pointed at the gunships, their engines idling. "Now we initiate a counter air strike. Put your men onboard," he told the chief. "My pilots will bring you as close to the fire as possible, then empty the canisters. That should contain the fires, if nothing else."

The man's eyes went wide slightly at the proposal and for a moment, Gaff thought he would have another fight on his hands. But the chief simply nodded, his face revealing both his fatigue and his relief at the offer of cooperation.

"Gotcha," he said and lifted a comlink to his lips, speaking quickly but firmly into it.

Yellow dressed firefighters ran towards the gunships, dozens of barrels of extinguishing foam on repulsor lifts between them. The blast doors of the larties opened and more white-armored troopers began helping the firefighters load the barrels. The pilots, already briefed on Gaff's plan, lifted off as soon as they could.

Gaff and the chief, standing side by side, watched with abated breath as the gunships zoomed towards the three burning buildings, the pilots managing to take up a hovering position mere meters above the inferno. Troopers and firefighters together began tipping the barrels out over the edge of the carriage. White, sticky foam spilled out, falling onto the flames, first in rivulets, then streams and then torrents as the men on the gunships got into the rhythm of the action. More of the rescuers were turning to watch, as the flames began to grow smaller, the ruins of the three apartment buildings being doused in continuous streams of the foam, which hardened soon after making contact with the flames, smothering them in the process.

Gaff had no idea how long it took, seconds or hours, but the flames actually started to die, suffocated by the hardening foam. When the last of the fires died, a raucous cheer went through the crowd of rescuers. Gaff saw one of his troopers clap a firefighter on the back and be congratulated by the woman in turn. He felt relief flood through him. It had worked; it had actually worked. That old saying really was true: there was nothing like good air support.

The chief clapped one grimy hand on his pauldron. "Nicely done, lad," he said companionably.

"It's not over yet," Gaff felt obligated to say. It was true, some fires were still burning at the edges of the scene, mostly shrubbery and greens that had caught fire.

"We'll get those too," the man said and started walking away from Gaff, once more speaking into his comlink. He suddenly stopped, having only taken about three steps. He turned back to Gaff, his face grave and resigned. "You do realize," he said slowly, "that this operation has pretty much depleted our supply of extinguishing foam?" And he gestured at the small extinguishing droids, whose nozzles were beginning to sputter with the dwindling supply of the precious foam in their canister like bodies. "It might take us over a week to get more approved from Coruscant."

Gaff felt his stomach clench tight. "Yes," he said. "I know." And they still had a bomber on the loose, one who had apparently decided to break with his custom of leaving a week between attacks. _He could strike at any time now, _Gaff thought. _He's changed his time of attack, the number of attacks and possibly the makeup of the bombs. And the one thing we do have to fight him with is now practically expended. _

Things were not looking good for them. Gaff forcefully terminated that negative line of thinking. He was a clone, bred for battle, and defeatism was counterproductive to his very existence. They would find a way; after all, they had a Jedi on their side now. And that thought was enough of a comfort for him to be repeated out loud for the benefit of the chief.

"We're not completely without an advantage," he said confidently. "A Jedi has only arrived yesterday to help us find the bomber. She was the one who saved those people from the house," he added, his voice betraying a trace of pride. He had been nearly frantic when Wren had told him that Padawan Ro had gone into the burning building, endangering herself in what appeared to be a hopeless rescue effort. But she had pulled it off, saving all nine of the trapped individuals. He should have known that there was nothing a Jedi could not do.

The chief seemed to mull that over in his mind. "I've never seen a Jedi in action before," he said, then shrugged his heavily clad shoulders. "But I have to admit the thought of one on Gaftikar at this time is reassuring." Without another word the man turned his back on Gaff, returning to his men to oversee the last of the operation. After all, just because a fire was out did not mean that it was no longer dangerous.

Gaff himself made a quick check of the troopers he had brought with him to the site. Originally, they had been heading to the site of the first explosion, a warehouse for the storing of freeze-dried meats in the industrial zone. But once the call had come through that there had been a second attack, one right in the middle of the residential area, Gaff had ordered the convoy of troopers to change course. He thought their presence would be more useful in an area with large crowds, where the police force might be overtaxed with keeping things in line. He had been right and he felt gratified at his decision.

Luckily, it turned out that none of his men were seriously injured. Geiger was the worst off; he had landed unfortunately when the last building had collapsed and had broken his right wrist. He looked more sheepish than in pain when Gaff went to see him; a civilian paramedic was patching him up, shooting Gaff a rather annoyed glare at his intrusion. Gaff stood his ground, but retreated in good grace after a few words to Geiger.

Now he was walking down the line of ambulances and the hastily set up triage areas, looking for the Padawan. He was eager to see her; needing to know whether or not she was alright. Her pale, drawn face kept floating into his conscious mind. He hadn't been able to see any physical injuries, but burns could be nasty and sometimes, in the aftermath of shock and rushing adrenaline, people did not even notice their injuries until too late. The fact that Sergeant Wren had been with her did little to comfort the commander. He did not trust such a delicate task as looking after a Jedi to Wren. There was simply not an ounce of empathy or tact in the man.

Gaff went past one ambulance, stepped out of the way of a paramedic dragging an oxygen tank and finally found Padawan Ro sitting on the bumper of an ambulance. She was holding an oxygen mask to her face, her head tilted up towards the sergeant, who was leaning slightly over her, arms crossed over his chest. It seemed they were in the middle of a conversation.

"…ehave yourself," the sergeant was just saying, "and maybe we can pick up the fun where we left off."

The Padawan managed a laugh, despite the oxygen mask. "What kind of fun did you have in mind?" Her voice was slightly muffled, but it still sounded cheerful, slightly teasing.

A smirk came to the sergeant's lips, stretching the scar at the right corner of his mouth, elongating the gesture. "How about you and I play a round of doctor? I'll even take your temperature." And he actually _winked _at her.

"Sergeant!" The word fairly exploded out of Gaff. Incensed and mortified beyond all measure, Gaff stalked towards the man, who was in the process of turning his head at the commander. The relaxed expression was gone from his face and the older trooper now regarded his superior officer with a blank, stony face that bordered on hostile.

This time, it was Gaff that stepped right into the sergeant's personal space, standing almost toe to toe with the man.

"Sergeant Wren, you will apologize immedia…"

A laugh, high and clear, interrupted his tirade and both men turned towards the Padawan. She was almost doubled over, holding her side with one arm, while the hand of the other tried to keep the oxygen mask in place. There were tears streaming down her eyes and for a moment, Gaff wondered if it was a delayed reaction to the smoke, before good sense told him it was probably from mirth.

"Doc-doctor," she gasped, still laughing. "Oh, you're too much, cookie." And she set off in another bout of laughter.

Gaff was confused. Cookie? What was she talking about? Was this some sign of head trauma? On Kamino, one man from F Company had once suffered a rather serious concussion and all the way to the infirmary had only been able to babble on and on about data flows and binary code.

There was no confusion on the sergeant's face though. Wren was looking at her, one eyebrow raised quizzically, the amused expression returning to his face. "I think I'm being insulted."

Ro waved him off. "N-no," she managed to say, "not at all." Her teal eyes gleamed at Wren from beneath her lashes and Gaff felt a stab of something hot and piercing shoot through him. What would it be like to have her look at him in that manner?

"I thought I wasn't your type?" she asked, putting the oxygen mask to the side, so she could speak better.

Wren gave a nonchalant shrug. "Beggars can't be choosers and this little action has got my blood all boiling." He raised an eyebrow at her again, though this time, he managed to make the gesture appear suggestive. "Care to volunteer for the service?"

Gaff clenched his teeth. "Sergeant," he began in a warning tone. "You will cease this inappropriate line of conversation immediately and apologize." It did not matter the least to Gaff that the Padawan insisted on her status as non-military personnel. She was still a Jedi and deserved to be addressed with the proper respect accorded that rank. Even if he had to enforce that policy with a physical confrontation. Wren, catching the tone of his commander's words, straightened, his posture signalling a readiness for a fight.

Ro, clearly alarmed by the growing tension between the two men, quickly waved a hand to get their attention. "Hey, no," she said, looking from one to the other worriedly. "This is just funning around. No disrespect intended and I…"

She was interrupted by a hacking cough, which seemed to go on and on. The force of the episode bent her over once more, though this time it was clearly from pain. She gasped, trying to draw in air in-between the relentless coughing. Wren cursed and shoved the oxygen mask back over her face, while Gaff yelled for Wess.

The lieutenant came at a sprint, crouching down by the gasping, hacking Padawan. Quickly, he took out a scanner from his backpack, running the wand over her chest and studying the readouts.

"Definite lung damage," he said. "Some of the others are suffering from the same thing. Something in the smoke is causing serious irritation to the bronchial and nasal passages." He put down the wand and started rummaging through his backpack again, taking out a small canister of liquid bacta.

"I need to put this in the oxygen mix," he told Gaff. "It'll soothe any irritation and prevent tissue scarring."

Ro's eyes had gone wide at the sight of the canister and she began to lean away from Wess, nearly dislodging the oxygen mask again in the process. Wren's hand on her back prevented her from retreating further, so she began to shake her head forcefully from side to side.

"Co-Padawan," Wess quickly correctly himself, "this is a necessary preventive measure. Without the bacta your airways could be permanently damaged."

"N-no…bacta…" she gasped out, her breath fogging up the mask for a moment. She pulled back the sleeve of her soiled jacket on one arm, exposing a thin, metallic bracelet dangling from her wrist. She thrust this at Wess. "Allergic."

Wess looked at the medical bracelet, then at Gaff, his confidence of a few moments ago gone. He was a trained medic and excellent at his job, but he wasn't sure how to react to this new development. He had been trained to treat clones and no clone was allergic to bacta, which was the universal treatment for practically everything.

Gaff wasn't sure how to proceed either. In some part of his mind, he had known that the condition existed, but a bacta allergy was so rare that he had never really thought about the possible consequences. Besides, it was such a _civvie _thing. No clone had it.

Ro fumbled at her belt with one hand, fingers dancing over various pouches attached there until she found the one she wanted. Unclipping it from her belt, she held the pouch towards Wess.

"Medkit," she said from behind the mask. Her voice was starting to sound raspy from all the coughing. "Bottle marked 'Heal-All'."

Wess took the pouch and came up with a cylinder, about the same size and shape as the canister that contained his medkit's bacta. He studied it for a moment, then attached the container to the oxygen feed. There was a short hiss as the liquid inside the canister was pressurized and added to the oxygen flow. Then a slightly green mist could be seen through the clear plastic of the mask and Ro closed her eyes, breathing in the mixture deeply. For a few moments, all three men stood around the slim girl in silence, listening as her harsh breathing began to even out until it returned to normal.

Teal eyes opened to regard the assembled troopers and Gaff was glad to see that spark of humor had returned to them. After a few more deep breaths, she placed the mask to one side, smiling at the three troopers.

"Surrounded by three strapping men in uniform; it's every girl's dream. I feel I should swoon, just to give you the chance to catch me."

Wren was the first to respond, giving a derisive snort. "You'd likely only get a concussion in the process."

She rolled her eyes. "You have no romance in you."

Wess coughed discreetly, managing to interrupt the two before they started up again with their previous banter. Gaff, standing at the side-lines and feeling oddly left out, was grateful for the medic's intervention.

"What is this?" Wess asked with some interest, holding the cylinder of 'Heal-All' up to Ro. The Padawan smiled at him, apparently approving of the question.

"It's a herbal alternative to bacta," she explained. "There's all kinds of good stuff in it, including aloe extract, which is great for burns and skin irritations. A healer on the _Chu'unthor _made it for me, along with a bunch of other really neat stuff." Her smile turned rueful. "Being allergic to bacta sucks."

Wess was examining the canister with renewed interest. As a medic, all new techniques interested him and he had never really considered herbal alternatives for his trade. Gaff, on the other hand, was interest in something else she had said.

"The _Chu'unthor_?" he asked, pronouncing the strange name carefully. "Is that your flagship?"

Ro gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head in amusement. "Yes and no. The _Chu'unthor _is a praxeum ship." Seeing the blank expressions on all three men, she elaborated. "A praxeum ship is like a floating school. It's Master Altis's alternative to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It's where most of the Altisian Jedi receive their training." Then she looked directly at Gaff and her eyes were sparkling in a way he had never seen before. "You should come visit us sometime," she said. "It's a neat place and we're a fun bunch." Her smile broadened. "You'll simply love Master Altis. Everyone does. And he'll love you, particularly after the brilliant stunt you just pulled."

Gaff found he had to look away for a moment, as, much to his horror, he felt heat creeping along his neck and cheeks. The praise had been unexpected and had suffused his body with a warmth that had nothing to do with the residual heat in the air. And had she really just invited him, _him personally, _to visit her at her home, the home of Jedi? He had never seen the Temple on Coruscant in person, but from the holos it looked like an impressive structure, somehow managing to appear both beautiful and….and wise. And the fact that it was the center of all Jedi teaching inspired an awe in Gaff that reached back to his earliest days on Kamino. To be asked to visit a structure similar to that august building and by the first Jedi he had ever met in person was…it was simply overwhelming. And somehow, it felt very personal. Wasn't it personal, to be invited back to someone's home?

When he looked back up again to thank her for the honor, he saw that her attention had already strayed away from him.

She was now regarding the smouldering husks of the three apartment buildings, coated in a thick covering of extinguishing foam. Red uniformed police officers and yellow clad firefighters were walking among the ruins, searching for any lingering fires and gathering what little evidence the rescue effort had not destroyed.

Gaff swallowed his disappointment at having lost the chance to talk to her more and sternly reminded himself that this was not the time to get distracted. There was a bomber on the loose and he would do everything within his power to help this very unusual Jedi catch him. That was his priority and not these…feelings, that were making it hard for him to concentrate. He pushed them aside and nodded towards the wreckage left by the bomb.

"Hopefully, we'll find traces of what was in that bomb," he told her. "That way, we might be able to determine what was used as an incendiary and we can be better prepared for the next attack."

"Not likely," Wren put in, his tone cynical. "Anything useful was either washed away or is buried beneath layers of foam." He nodded towards the white hills. "And it takes days to drill through the stuff."

"Pessimist," Ro chided him softly. "There's always a chance. But as long as we're waiting for that chance to stroll around, we should get busy." Her usually happy face took on a serious cast as she frowned in thought. "There's more going on here than a simple bomber." She turned towards Gaff. "We need to talk. Is there someplace where we could get up all the information we have so far, to go over everything? Like, with maps and boards to write on?"

Gaff found himself smiling for the first time in days. "Actually, we happen to be equipped with just such a space. The MTCC."

"Ah," she said. "So I will finally find out the mystery behind MTCC." She clapped her hands together. "Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's make like a squall and hop to it."

Wren held up one hand to forestall the enthusiastic Jedi. "A suggestion," he drawled. "You might want to shower and change your clothes first."

Gaff glared at Wren for his tactlessness, but privately, he had to agree with the sergeant. The Padawan's clothes were stained and charred, even torn in some places. Every inch of exposed skin was dark with soot and clammy with sweat and her hair was hopelessly tangled, constantly falling into her face, where it stayed plastered to her skin. And she smelled rather unpleasantly of sweat, smoke and something else, slightly chemical, that Gaff couldn't identify.

Ro looked down at herself critically, then sighed. "I guess you're right." Then she fixed Wren with a rather chastising eye. "Though you could have been gallant and polite and pointed out that while I have never looked better, a shower would refresh my youthful glow."

Wren picked up his helmet, idly turning it over in his hands. "I could," he said and donned his bucket. "But I don't speak bullshit."


	12. Chapter 11: Rats and Profiles

**Author's Note: **If you are starting to get a _Criminal Minds _vibe, then go with the feeling. Some of Ro's methods are inspired by that series, as well as other crime shows, like _NCIS, NCIS:L.A. and CSI. _What can I say? I was on a roll. And credit goes to where credit is due: a lot of wikis and more TV than is healthy. Oh, and this will be a long one.

* * *

**Rats and Profiles**

"_What does signature mean? Supposedly these are the added touches that make the crime personal to the killer." _

_- __Pat Brown_

* * *

_Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (24 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Like most of the things here on Gaftikar, taking a shower was not as easy as one might have thought. Ro, who felt like she was covered in a sticky patina of sweat and duraplast dust, refused Gaff's offer to use the showers at the base. First off, those were only sonic showers, which were practical, but not at all satisfying. Second, there was no such thing as a female refresher on the base, - or a single one, for that matter - so in order to give Ro some privacy, Gaff would have had to close one of the group freshers to the rest of the men. Which, to Ro, was absolutely silly, seeing as a good portion of the base's clone contingent was just as much in need of a shower as her and had totally deserved the right to one.

So Ro insisted that she take her shower onboard the _Mockingbird. _And that the _Mockingbird _be allowed to land on the landing pad right next to the garrison.

"It's just way more practical this way," Ro told Gaff, as they headed back to the base in one of the company's armored groundcars.

Gaff had been trying to politely explain to her that a civilian starship was prohibited on GAR grounds; an argument that Ro simply ignored.

"All my stuff is on the ship, including my clothes," she said and gave the commander a pointed stare, gesturing at her ruined attire. "And you don't have anything on hand that could possibly fit me. Besides, you don't want me constantly walking from here to the spaceport, do you?"

Needless to say Gaff capitulated and Ro cheerfully told Artee to bring the _Mockingbird _over. And that was where her next argument started, because her astromech was dead-set against the idea of coming anywhere within a klick of a fully armed base manned with droid killing organics. Ro rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the jarring of the groundcar. She was tired, dirty, her chest hurt from the smoke and so did her feet, where the thin soles of her shoes had failed to protect her from the heat.

"Artee," she told the nearly hysterical droid, "the _Mockingbird _is fully armed as well. I promise, if someone comes at you screaming death to all droids, you have my permission to ghost them."

That seemed to satisfy her droid, who whistled a reluctant agreement to her over her wristcomm. Gaff, sitting next to her in the groundcar, gave her a rather dubious look at such a promise, but held himself back from lecturing her about any more regulations and restrictions, which Ro had no doubt existed. Shiv had always insisted that the army had a rule for everything, including on how to die. Ro was starting to believe it.

But in the end, the clones' reaction to the appearance of the _Mockingbird _made it all worth it.

As her ship's distinctive shadow fell over the landing pad and Artee initiated the landing sequence, a host of troopers, some covered in dust and with heat-scorching along their armor, others, fresh-faced and clean, gathered about the area, staring up in awe. Ro waited with them, delighting in their reactions.

"It's a bird?" a white-armored trooper - Ro thought his name was Mekk - asked.

"It's a ship," another corrected, his voice matter of fact, but his eyes were also riveted on the landing starship.

"It's the _Mockingbird,_" Ro declared happily and practically glowed with satisfaction at their stunned and appreciative expressions.

Once, the ship had been nothing more than a grey, durasteel plated mongrel, cobbled together by Shiv. About forty meters long, the ship resembled a long-necked bird from the outside, with wings that curved sharply inward and a prow that had a definite downward slant. Ro had loved it on sight and once the ship had passed into her hands, she'd taken that suggested shape and run with it.

Using copious amounts of paint - and incurring even more debts with Shiv and Eda - Ro had painted feathers along the ship's body, imitating the makeup of a bird, with distinguishable primary and secondary feathers running along the top and soft-looking down feathers along the ship's belly. The feathers each varied in color, from blue to green, to orange and yellow, red and violet and purple and so on, but Ro had used soft pastel tones in the process, which made it look as if the feathers grew naturally out of the ship's grey durasteel skin.

She had even painted the prow and landing struts a yellow-orange to give the impression of a beak and talons.

It was Ro's masterpiece and she simply adored every inch of it. And she loved the fact that her ship - her wonderful, beautiful ship - could leave people awestruck and gaping at the mere sight of her.

Grinning like a fool, Ro left the milling troopers behind her and bounced up the waiting landing ramp with an energy she didn't really feel. She was tired and her chest felt sore, but that little boost of positive emotion back at the landing pad had buoyed her just enough.

Artee whistled anxiously at her through the ship's comm, telling her to hurry so that he could close the ramp. Ro smiled at her droid's antics and shook her head ruefully. Would he ever be able to meet new people without blowing a circuit every time? Probably not. It made her wonder sometimes why Artee had chosen to come with her, instead of staying on Ansion at Odd Ends with Eda and Shiv. Maybe Eda threatening to dismantle him for a teakettle had something to do with it.

"I'm gonna take a shower," Ro called into the empty air and turned towards the 'fresher. As soon as she was inside, she gratefully stripped out of her filthy clothing. She shook her things out, looking them over to see if anything could be salvaged. No such luck. Her lilac jacket had lost most of its original color. There were huge stains marking the areas where the IMA bags had burst after her collision with a clone trooper's armored chest. The green tunic she'd worn beneath was in no better condition, nor were her pants. Ro eyed the beaded tassles regretfully. She might be able to save something there; most of the beads were warped and charred, like the rest of her things, but you never knew. She might be able to sell them to some avant-garde enthusiasts.

Next, Ro rifled through the various pockets along her jacket and tunic. With a sigh, she confirmed what she'd already suspected. Most of the evidence she'd gathered was gone, destroyed by the heat she'd exposed herself to and her leap from the collapsing building. Even her flimsi notebook was ruined, the edges of the pages charred and flacking away. She'd have to go through it later, see if she couldn't still discern some of her notes, but basically, all the work she'd put in this morning was gone.

For a moment, Ro considered being upset, but then shrugged it off. Her memory was very good; she could always transcribe her findings later into a new notebook and it wasn't as if the physical evidence she'd collected had been groundbreaking.

What was important was that she'd managed to be of some use during the fire and had helped nine people make it out of a burning building alive. What was lost evidence when weighed agains the lives of nine sentient beings?

She did make one happy discovery. Her precious holo-locket had survived the ordeal unscathed. Cradling the round locket in the palm of one hand, Ro anxiously went through each holo, then let out a sigh of relief when she saw that neither the memory crystal nor the projector had been damaged.

So Ro could step into her shower semi-happy and as the warm water hit her fatigued body and the grime and filth and dust began to wash away from her in grey rivulets, Ro leaned her head against the shower stall and sighed in satisfaction.

_I love my ship, _she thought contentedly, grateful not for the first time that Shiv had insisted on a real water shower instead of a simple sonic. There was just something about the feel of warm water sliding over your skin, soothing a tired body after a rather harrowing few hours, that a sonic could never compensate for.

Turning her face up into the spray, letting sore muscles relax in the gathering steam, Ro began to sing along with the latest chart topper coming through the speakers. She would have liked nothing more than to spend the next half hour under the water, with the steam to clear her pores, but she was conscious of the fact that Gaff was probably waiting for her. And her curiosity was killing her about this MTCC thing.

With only a little pang of regret Ro left the shower once she was sure she no longer looked like a building had collapsed on her and dried herself off with one of her favourite fluffy towels, though she winced a little as she dried off her chest. Her lungs still hurt from breathing in the biting chemical smoke and the muscles in her chest were still slightly sore from all of the coughing she'd done. She would need more than a dose of 'Heal-All' and a hot shower to recover completely. _After this is over, _she thought, beginning the long process of drying her hair, _maybe I can visit Shiv and Eda, once they're back from their trip. I haven't had the chance to visit much since the start of the war and it'll be summer on Ansion by now. _That was such a wonderful idea that she determined to put it into action. Certainly she could manage a few days of rest on Ansion without the galaxy falling into pieces?

When you had very long hair, drying it was not just a lengthy process, but also one with a rather annoying result. For although dry, Ro's pale blond hair was now a crackling, static charged cloud floating about her face and body. Trying to pat it down was a hopeless exercise and because she did not want to go back to the base looking like she'd just stuck her finger into an electric socket, she wrestled the mass of hair into a half-way manageable ponytail, tied at her neck. Though a few stubborn strands remained stuck to her face, Ro took comfort in the thought that at least her electric blue zigzag lines had acquired a new sheen.

Wrapping her slender body in another towel and still singing, Ro left the refresher and practically walked face-first into an armored figure.

She stumbled back, rubbing furiously at her small nose. "Ow."

"That's plastoid for you. Kriffing hard stuff."

The drawled sarcasm identified the speaker for Ro even before she saw the green stripes and a familiar helmet with two crimson lightning bolts clipped to the belt. She looked up at Wren's face, the scarred side of his mouth pulled up in lazy amused.

"Did I invite you onboard?" she asked, checking the palm of her hand to see if she had gotten a nosebleed. He was right, that stuff was _hard. _

"No." His dark eyebrows quirked up at her. "Nice outfit." His eyes raked over her slim frame. "You really don't have much when it comes to accessories, do you?"

Ro flushed in embarrassment as she realized that she was still dressed in nothing but a towel. But embarrassment had never been enough to keep Ro down for long. Tilting her head up at him at a haughty angle, Ro proudly declared, "I'm more woman than you'll ever be able to handle, cookie. And at least I'm soft in all the right places. You look like an albino suuri in need of a good boiling."

He snorted laughter at that, which gave her the time to holler down the narrow corridor. "Artee, cut the music and explain to me how this mook got onboard!"

Wren frowned in thought, clearly trying to decipher what she meant by "mook". Artee, who'd been in the galley for once, instead of the cockpit, came trundling down the corridor, chirping questions at her as to what she meant about someone being onboard?

Wren turned towards the sound just as the little astromech caught sight of the clone..and the blaster that was prominently displayed at his side.

For about a second, Artee froze, his domed head fixed on the trooper. Then the astromech let out a piercing, shrill whistle of alarm that caused both Humans to flinch back in agony. Domed head spinning crazily in mounting panic, Artee tried to back out of the narrow corridor, while shrieking and whistling dire statistics about how he was to be turned to scrap with a 71.56% chance of being recycled as a skeet and a 23.785% possibility of being enslaved by the organics as an eternal target and...

Sparks began to fly out of his domed head section as Artee's self-preservation module and his risk evaluation programs went into overdrive. Skittering in his panic, with his central processing core starting to overheat, Artee finally misstepped in his navigation and drove dome first into a wall. With a last flare of sparks, the little droid toppled over backwards in a dead faint.

The two Humans stood there for a moment, stunned, then Ro gave a cry of dismay and - completely forgetting her state of undress - squeezed past Wren to crouch down next to her droid. She pried open the main access panel on his round body, quickly flipping a few switches with practiced fingers, initiating a reboot of all systems.

"What the fek was that all about?" Wren asked her.

"He fainted," Ro explained.

Wren gave a disbelieving snort. "Droids don't faint."

"Alright then, when his facial recognition program identified you as a clone, his central processors automatically ran you through his risk assessment and damage potential programs, which generated various scenarios in which you could cause crucial physical harm to him, which appeared to be so extensive that it overloaded his mechanical processing nerves, causing an overstimulation of the main personality programming and overheating in his processing core. The failsafes activated automatically and sent him into temporary shutdown in order to prevent a major meltdown of circuits." She threw him a challenging stare. "Better?"

Wren shrugged. "It sounds defective. Just scrap it and get a new one."

Ro glared at him. "Artee's not an 'it'. He's a 'he' and he's my friend. You don't just dump friends just because they have a personality."

"Personality disorder, is more like it," Wren told her.

Ro ignored him, made the final adjustments, then affectionately stroked the droid's domed head. "Don't worry Artee," she cooed at him in Binary. "When you reestablish normal function, the organic male presence will no longer be active in the area."

Adjusting her grip on the towel, Ro turned back to Wren, to see the sergeant watching her with a slightly stunned expression on his face. She was half-tempted to whip out her holo-locket and preserve the moment for posterity. She would bet her whole collection of cookie jars that he did not look like that often.

"Better close your mouth trooper, you're causing a draft."

He shut his mouth with an audible click of his teeth, the glare returning to his face. "You speak droid?" he asked her suspiciously.

"I speak Binary," she corrected, not at all bothered by his doubting tone. "A lot of the time it's just me and Artee," she explained, as she began to try and squeeze past him again to get to her cabin. She really needed to put on some clothes. But the narrowness of the corridor wasn't making it easy for her. And there was a lot of trooper to squeeze past. "And we spend a lot of time in hyperspace transit." He wasn't budging either to make her passage easier. "At first," she continued, determined not to let him provoke her, "I just imitated whatever sounds he made at me. Bothered the circuits out of him, poor little guy." She finally managed to squeeze by him and made her way to her cabin. The sound of his booted footsteps behind her seemed to resonate through the ship. How had he managed to sneak up on her in the first place? "Then I began to find a pattern in the toots, whistles and general noise." She ducked into her cabin, closing the door in his face. She could hear him curse as he nearly ran into the door and smothered a laugh with her hands. Served him right for ambushing her outside of her own 'fresher. "Before I knew it," she called to him, raising her voice enough so that he could hear her through the door, "Artee and me were having a real conversation."

Ro dropped the towel and began rummaging through the set of drawers beneath her bed, pulling out a black tank top, a light, hooded shirt in the same shade of electric blue as the zigzags in her hair and a pair of sand-colored, multi-pocketed pants. Perfect. She quickly pulled everything on, then started loading the pockets with a variety of small tools she would need for her forensic work. She clipped her lightsabers to her belt, patting them affectionately as she did so. Last, she slipped the holo-locket back over her head, pushed back a few strands of hair and and opened her cabin door again. The swishing door revealed the scowling face of one very annoyed trooper, glaring at her fit to drop a charging gundark.

"Is there something I can do for you, Sergeant?" she asked, her face and tone utterly innocent.

He exhaled noisily, clearly not a happy trooper at the moment. "I'm supposed to escort you back to the MTCC."

_Guess this round goes to me as well. This is so much fun! _She had to supress a little squeal of joy. She'd never met anyone who was this fun to tease. But she kept her head in the game and her face pleasantly blank.

"Ah, yes, the mysterious MTCC," she said and made little shooing motions to get him to back up enough for her to exit the cabin. Instead, he first braced both arms against the doorframe, towering over her before pushing back and stepping to one side, clearing the way for her in one smooth motion. _Contrary as a vine cat, _she thought, far more amused by his antics than threatened. She had dealt with far less pleasant characters than Wren.

Clasping her hands behind her back she strolled down the corridor and through the hangar bay. She saw that the loading ramp was already lowered and threw the sergeant an annoyed pout. "You know, a gentleman would at least close the door behind him, after he broke into a lady's home."

"Good thing then that I'm not a gentleman and you barely qualify to being called a girl." He snapped back.

Ro rolled her eyes, a smile coming to her lips, but she decided that she wanted to satisfy her curiosity more than she wanted to bait him further.

"So?" she asked eagerly. "What's an MTCC?"

* * *

The Military Tactical Command Center was the central nerve of the entire garrison. Equipped with the newest, top of the line technologies for surveillance, organization and the gathering of information it contained the most sensitive of tactical and strategic data available to Eyat Base. Technically, an MTCC was sheer overkill for a small garrison like the one on Gaftikar, but the base had been a pre-fabricated model, easy to assemble and take down and the MTCC had been in the standard design. The MTCC required a crew of three to oversee the equipment, incoming data and flow of encrypted chatter and although it had appeared like a superfluous duty at first, Gaff was nevertheless glad he had insisted on it. Even before the start of the bombings, the MTCC had proven useful in monitoring GFH activity, information Gaff had dutifully forwarded to the local law enforcement. Not that they had put that information to any good use, but Gaff had done his part to the best of his ability and that had been enough for him. Now though, that wasn't good enough anymore.

Gaff looked over the datapad Lieutenant Tring had just handed him, soberly reviewing the numbers.

"Is this the final count?" he asked wearily.

"No, sir," the sergeant said. "Two of the victims are still in critical condition and being treated at the burn unit. One of them is a firefighter," he added.

Gaff, remembering the momentary camaraderie shared with the Fire Chief winced in sympathy. "Inform the communications officer on duty that he is to call the hospitals immediately. He is to offer them our assistance; medics, supplies, anything that we can spare."

Tring gave a sharp nod. "Yessir," he said, saluting, then doing an about face and smartly walking back to his station to pass on the order.

"That was very kind of you, Gaff," came a voice from behind him.

Gaff's shoulders straightened automatically at the sound of that voice and he quickly turned to look down into the oval face of Padawan Ro Arhen.

"Thank you, Com-Padawan," he said and fought back the blush that arose both at his blunder and at the flutter that had come to his stomach at the way she had said his name. Her voice was so…so soft and full, so utterly unlike the rough voices of his fellow clones or the fluting tones of the Kaminoans. He supposed he should have been used to it by now. From the moment he had met her, she had been like no one he had never met before.

She smiled at him and he had to fight harder against a rush of heat. She smiled a lot, but all of her smiles seemed different, all tailored to the situation and to the person. It seemed to Gaff that when she smiled at him, there was a definite fondness to it.

"When are you finally going to call me Ro?" she asked him. "It's so much less a mouthful than either 'Padawan' or 'Commander'." She waggled a finger playfully under his nose. "And don't try to deny it. I know you want to 'Commander' me every time we talk."

He searched his mind for a proper response, but was thankfully spared from the need as her eyes darted away from him and she began to take in the MTCC. She looked about her appreciatively; admiring the consoles of encryption feeders, pulse monitors and data readers.

Gaff used the opportunity to confront Sergeant Wren, who was standing close to the MTCC entrance, his eyes also on the Padawan.

"Proper procedure dictates that you announce the arrival of a superior officer, Sergeant," Gaff admonished, though he was beginning to wonder why he still bothered. The sergeant knew the rules and regs as well as he did and actively chose to ignore them. And over two months of correcting him hadn't made so much as a dent. Gaff knew a losing battle when he saw one, but he would never admit defeat.

Wren didn't even bother to meet his eyes. He was still looking at the Padawan, watching her in a manner that Gaff found completely inappropriate. It was…almost predatory, as if he were trying to figure out the best strategy for an ambush.

"She keeps insisting she's not a superior officer, or any kind of officer. Might as well oblige her." His lips kicked into that smirk Gaff was well familiar with by now, a combination of arrogance and amusement. "Besides, arguing with a Jedi is against regs, too."

He couldn't deny that. Jedi were to be obeyed, without question. That wasn't just decreed in the regs, but it was also a fundamental element of the Command Code, the code by which all troopers lived. And it was just like Wren to find a way to use the Code to justify his insubordinate behaviour. The man was an absolute maverick; an aberrance among clones, odd and out of place.

Gaff shot a quick glance at the Padawan, his eyes catching on the electric blue zigzags in her otherwise pale blond her. She was an oddity as well. Completely unlike anything he had been taught to expect of a Jedi. It seemed something she and the sergeant shared.

Gaff quickly shook the thought off. Utterly ridiculous. She was nothing like Wren; more like his complete opposite.

"I see you like to work with flimsi, too." Her words brought him out of his thoughts and he quickly stepped to her side, giving her his full attention. She was standing before a wall that, like his office, featured a variety of maps of Eyat and the surrounding terrain. To the side stood three whiteboards, each covered with flimsi hardcopies of the results of their investigation into the bomber case. He was embarrassed to admit there wasn't much. Only two of the whiteboards were complete covered, the other was two-thirds empty.

"I have found that sometimes looking at the facts in hard form can be useful," he said. "Though as you can see, there isn't much to look at, at the moment."

"Don't sell yourself short," she murmured, looking closely at the printout of the analysis of the detonite traces they had found. "This is a good start. You've been pretty thorough."

Pride suffused him at the praise and he found a knot in his stomach unwinding. "Thank you…" The warning look she shot him made him trail off for a moment before concluding, a bit timidly, "…Ro."

"There now," she said. "Was that so hard?" And she padded him lightly on the arm. Actually, no. Her name rolled off of his tongue quite easily.

She tapped one of the flimsi sheets. "What's this list of names? Suspects?"

"Yes." He quickly brought his mind back to the matter at hand. "This is a list of all known Separatist operatives who have been connected to recent terrorist bombings. All of them have shown a preference for detonite and are on the Republic watch list."

Ro studied the list of names more closely. "You think this is a Separatist plot?"

A sense of déjà vu washed over Gaff. "Who else would it be?"

"Good question," she said. She looked up at him, expectantly. "Well?" she asked him. "Who else could it be?"

It threw him for a moment, having his own question thrown back in his face. "Well, no one," he told her. "No one but the Separatists would profit from sowing chaos among the populace."

"That's not entirely true," Wren put in. The sergeant had come up on the other side of Ro, his face unusually thoughtful as he stared at the boards. "The GFH has been doing more than enough panic spreading in the past."

* * *

"Who's the GFH?" Ro asked, her tone curious.

"The Gaftikar for Humans movement," Wren answered. "A bunch of effing crackpot fanatics, with too much time and too little brains. They headed the resistance movement when the townships were still in a state of siege with the Marits. Since the battle, they've been lobbying to have the Marits forcefully removed from the planet and just making life a general kriffing misery for everyone."

"Are they violent?"

Wren grimaced, but it was Gaff who answered. "When F Company first set foot on the planet, the GFH tried to force us back on the transport ships. Since then, they've been involved in acts of vandalism, attempted sabotage of equipment and they've tried assaulting our patrols on numerous occasions."

Ro looked at Gaff quizzically. "Tried?"

Wren gave a humourless bark of laughter. "Even the shiniest clone cadet can handle a civvie." Then his expression sobered and Ro caught a wave of intense _dislike _and mild _disgust _rolling off of him. "The real threat is to the Marits and anyone who supports them or tries to get friendly. Those karking barves have blitzed a number of people, Humans and Marits and beat them to within an inch of their life." He pulled a face. "Last week they broke into the house of some poor bleater. Broke both his legs and threatened his kids because he was working with a team of Marit builders." _Anger, _as strong and overwhelming as lightning, shot through his previous emotions, making the Force around him crackle.

_He _really _doesn't like these people, _she realized. _Or, he doesn't like their methods. _Yes, that seemed the more likely option. Wren did not strike her as the type of man unfamiliar with hard intimidation tactics, nor as someone who would shy away from using them when they served his purpose. A man whose Force signature was threaded through with violence and aggression would probably not hesitate at fighting dirty. But when he had talked about that man having his legs broken and about the kids, the anger she constantly felt about him had spiked, almost jabbed outwards as if it could pinion the people who had done this. He hadn't shown this much emotion at the mention of other clones being attacked. Rather than upset him, he had seemed more entertained than anything else.

"_Everyone has a line drawn in the sand." _Shiv had told her once, while trying to explain to her the concept of a criminal with an honor code. _"A line they determine should never be crossed. And when they see someone stepping over that line, then that's the start of open season." _

It seemed that the GFH had crossed a line for Wren and that the trooper would be more than happy to show them the error of their ways. _So he's okay with other clones being attacked, because they can defend themselves, _she realized. _But that father and his kids couldn't and the GFH took advantage of that and he hates them for it. _It was a feeling she could relate to. Ro didn't like those who preyed on the weak either.

"So what are you doing against them?" she asked.

"We've been monitoring communications traffic between known and suspected members of the GFH and have passed any relevant information on to the police," Gaff told her, his voice revealing evident pride.

"So," Ro said hesitantly, "you've been eavesdropping on people's private comm calls?" That didn't quite sound right.

"All's fair in war," Wren replied, surprising Ro with the quote. "And despite what HNE might say, we're still knee-deep in the poodoo."

Well, she couldn't argue with that. "Point, I suppose. So what has the police been doing about them?"

Gaff shifted uncomfortably and Wren's expression turned downright sour. "As far as we can tell, not much," Gaff admitted. "They've made some arrests, but claim that evidence is spurious or circumstantial at best. The police," Gaff's lips compressed into a tight line for a moment, "don't care for us. And they have developed the habit of dismissing everything we do or say."

"And most of them aren't lizard lovers either," Wren added. "Not unless said lizard happens to be a holster."

"And this is why no one from the police is here," she concluded. She had wondered about that. On the ride back to the base, Ro had asked Gaff to contact the police commissioner and ask him to come to the garrison. Ro had wanted to include him in her initial analysis of the situation, had wanted to hear his opinions on recent events. It annoyed her, this continued refusal to work together for the benefit of all. It was such a childish, petty thing to do, under the circumstances.

"I'll deal with him later," she said, more to herself than to the two clones at her side. Still staring blankly at the board, she did not see the quick look shared by the two men; one of apprehension, the other of anticipation.

"'Kay," she said and stepped back from the boards, angling her body so she could look at both of them at the same time. "I think we got enough here for a preliminary profile."

"A profile?" Gaff asked, puzzled.

"A profile," Ro repeated. "A criminal investigative analysis; a rough sketch of the rat's psychology. The rat being the bomber," she elaborated, seeing the blank expressions on the men's faces.

"And this will help us catch the bomber?" Gaff asked and although he tried to be polite, he could not entirely hide his skepticism from her.

"Absolutely," Ro reassured him. "If you want to find your prey, you first have to know your prey," she said, repeating a favourite saying of Shiv's. Ro took one of the markers and started writing on the blank part on one of the boards.

"No one has come forward claiming to have seen any suspicious people around the sites of the bombings. This indicates that the rat is able to move unnoticed through large crowds. That's quite a feat, particularly in the current atmosphere of suspicion in Eyat. When I landed, I couldn't take a step without someone watching me. That means he is either a local, or he is capable of making himself look so harmless, that people easily overlook him. So we know the rat is Human, male and most likely somewhere between his early twenties and thirties." She wrote that down on the board.

"How do you get all that from the fact that no one's reported someone suspicious?" Wren asked, his tone challenging.

"Because," Ro answered patiently, "from what you told me it's the Human half of the population that's making the most trouble and they are the ones radiating some of the most violent emotions right now. So if anyone is on the lookout for suspicious behaviour, it would be the Humans. But they're focused on the Marits, so logically they would overlook far more easily a Human acting suspiciously than a Marit."

"And this kind of terrorism isn't exactly the Marit style," Wren continued thoughtfully. "They prefer the direct approach; a single massive coordinated attack. Marits swarm their enemies, not bomb pointless targets."

She beamed at him for his insight. That was exactly the impression she had gathered from the Marits as well. "Exactly. So considering general species psychology, we can pretty much determine that the rat is Human. And most bombers are male. Females prefer cleaner means of killing, like poison, and they generally direct their rage at a single target. I got the age the same way. Statistically, bombers tend to be young; it makes them more perceptive to both manipulation and intense emotional reactions. And most of the Humans on the streets right now are in that age group. I noticed yesterday that everyone older tends to remain close to their shops and homes. Only the younger crowd is roving, so our rat has to belong to that category."

She talked while she wrote, quickly filling up the board. "Bombers are separated into four general categories. You have the simple bomber who uses only one bomb, generally with a massive destructive force. This was the type that carried out the attack on the Senate District on Coruscant last year. Second, there's the suicide bomber."

"I know about that type," Wren said and Ro looked up to see his expression darken with remembered anger. "One bomb, strapped to themselves, so that they can die for the cause and become kriffing martyrs." His voice and gaze was bitter as he met the questioning faces of Ro and Gaff. "Jabiim," he said curtly. "Some fekked up female got herself in the medbay, looking pregnant and shot up. Turned out the only baby she was carrying was a three pound bomb. Blew up the entire medbay and most of the surrounding outpost."

Ro had to bite her lip to keep from saying that she was sorry. Somehow, she didn't think Wren would appreciate a show of sympathy. She cast a quick glance at Gaff. The commander's face was politely attentive, but she could sense a thread of _anxiety _behind that careful mask. He was probably wondering if he would have to deal with that kind of deception at some point.

Noticing her attention, Gaff broke the uncomfortable silence, carefully clearing his throat. "Ehm, what are the other two types?"

"Speeder and serial bombers," she answered promptly. "It's pretty safe to say that ours is not a speeder bomber. Those guys actually use speeders as a delivery system, as well as a point of detonation, turning the speeder into a shrapnel shower." She crossed out three of the four terms she had written down. "It looks like our rat is most likely a serial bomber. This type uses multiple bombs to execute a series of attacks over an indefinite period of time."

Gaff glanced from the board to her. "What do you mean by 'indefinite'?" he asked.

"Some serial bombers have been known to operate over a period of years, if not decades. Pical ta Verensa was a Lorrdian bomber who was active for over twenty years before he was caught."

She saw Gaff's face go a little white at the news. "That's…that's a very long time to be killing people. Why would anyone do that?"

"Different reasons," Ro said, now really getting into the swing of things. "In the criminal psychological spectrum, serial bombers are unique. They often display sadistic tendencies, but their motivation is all over the chart. Religion, sadism, politics; they've all been named as the primary motivating force. Some even claim a moral reason for their actions. The only common denominator is that they want to take out as many people as they can."

"But that doesn't sound like our, ehm, rat," Gaff said. "His first three attacks were all at a time and place where no one should have gotten hurt. The death of those two Marit engineers was pure coincident."

Ro nodded. "I know. And this is where things get hinky." Ro flipped the board over; exposing the opposite, blank side. "Our bomber has posed us several problems," she said. "First, while he is exhibiting the patterns of a serial bomber on the surface, his actions don't really match that profile. Bombers, no matter what the motivation, mostly act out of a single emotion: a grudge. These guys have a bone to pick with someone, no matter about what, and they nurse that grudge, sometimes over years, until it explodes into action." She paused in her writing for a moment, looking at the troopers sheepishly. "Pardon the pun."

"And our bomber doesn't have a grudge?" Gaff asked.

Ro gnawed at her lip, then shook her head very slowly. "I'm not sure. I didn't _feel _anything at the last three sites that might point to that. And believe me, a grudge that big leaves a mark in the Force. But nothing I picked up was intense enough to fit the pathology. Until today." She turned her teal eyes on Wren. "I was too distracted once we got there, but when we were making our way to the storage block, I felt it. A disturbance in the Force; really deep ripples of glee and anticipation. Emotions that intense, that," she tried to grasp the right term, "that jagged and sour, always point towards a disturbed mind."

Wren cocked his head at her. "So that's how you knew to change course before the bomb even went off."

"Yeah. Not that it helps too much. I couldn't get a proper lock on him in those few seconds. But his emotional state isn't the only thing that's off about him." She walked towards the wall with the maps and started circling the sites of the first three bombings on the map depicting Eyat. "If we examine the geographical profile, we discover another anomaly that doesn't fit into the serial bomber profile. See," she tapped the three points with her index fingers, "general rule of thumb is that three attacks makes it a series, because three gives the rat the time to perfect his signature. Once you have three, you can generally also figure out the rat's comfort zone."

"His comfort zone?" Gaff asked. "You mean, where he lives?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "More often than not, the comfort zone is his hunting ground. It's where he feels confident and in the case of a serial bomber, it's where the target of his grudge is usually located. But with these?" She added the location of today's two sites and she waved her hand at the map in an expression of utter disgust.

The five dots were located at completely different parts of the city. The first had been practically outside of the township, the storage hangars Shenio used having been built after the city walls had been erected to ward off the Marit siege. The second site was located inside the city borders, but on the far southwest, practically at the other end of Eyat. The third site, the records building, was located at the eastern part of the township, at the very edge of the government block. The first bombing today had been another storage facility at the northwest section. And the apartment building had been close to the city center.

"There's no pattern," Ro said. "There's no way to narrow down a specific territory. He's just all over the map and not just geographically. I mean, none of these sites are owned by the same people or corporation; not even the same government, since Shenio Mining falls under the authority of the Corporate Guilds. Even if we consider a religious motive, none of these sites would offer offence to a single religion."

Wren leaned forward a little, studying the map with focused intensity, then jabbed a gloved finger at the site of the bombed residential building. "But they are moving closer to populated areas," he said.

"You're right," Ro said and had to think about that. "But why? Why change his pattern? And why did he stop adhering to his timetable and his signature. The bomb he detonated at the residential block was most definitely not detonite based."

"Maybe he's still trying to find his signature?" Gaff put in.

But Ro shook her head. "No, I don't think so. Finding a signature hints at a first-timer, an amateur, someone who's only now giving in to his impulses. The quality of the bombs points to someone who is an expert in the field and that takes years of experience, which in turn conflicts with the general age radius. Whoever this guy is, he's no first-timer. We just don't have enough information right now."

With a loud exhale, Wren stepped away from the board. "Great. So we basically have to wait around for this barve to make another move." He pulled a grimace. "I kriffing hate waiting. It's not good strategy to wait for your enemy to make the first move."

"Well then, luckily for you I have a few ideas," Ro said, her natural optimism reasserting itself. She turned towards Gaff. "Could you use this nifty tech to find out who has been affected by these bombings? I don't just mean injury wise, I mean financially. And could you see if any of the people affected by the bombings have been threatened recently?"

Gaff gave her a quick nod, though he still looked a little uncertain. "We can certainly do that," he said, "though I don't quite understand why. There's no connection between any of these sites."

"There's always a connection," Ro said firmly. "It's just sometimes not an obvious one. Now, who is the leader of this GFH?"

"Nutter by the name of Avnen Kezner," Wren answered her. "Real charmer. Used to be some minor official in public office before his post got taken over by a Marit."

"Great. And where could we find the charming Mr. Kezner?"

"You want to talk to him?" Gaff asked, surprised, then cast a thoughtful look at the board. "I do suppose he fits the profile." He grimaced, uncertain. "Somewhat, at least."

"He does," Ro said, "but that's not the only reason I want to have a little chat with him. As the main troublemaker in town, he might have some information on the smaller fish and any possible new additions."

"Good luck with that," Wren said. "The guy doesn't talk to anyone outside his little fan club except in obscenities."

"Oh, but you haven't seen me in action yet, cookie." Ro replied drolly. "I think you'll find me quite persuasive when I want to be."

"We don't really know where he is," Gaff admitted. "Kezner is paranoid and doesn't use the comm system anymore. Mostly he communicates with the GFH by courier and he has some means of getting around the city that makes tracking him difficult."

"He's meeting up with some of his cronies at a tapcaf on Qualan Street in the entertainment district, 'bout 1700," Wren put in nonchalantly.

Gaff visibly started, staring at the sergeant in disbelief. "Ho-how do you know that?"

"I got my sources."

"Your sources," Gaff said slowly, then for the first time emitted a snort of disbelieve himself. "Those aren't sources. Nothing but drunks and prostitutes you picked up at a tavern." He turned to Ro. "None of those so called sources are reliable in the least. We can do a city wide sweep, block off all escape routes and have Kezner for sure."

Ro looked at him thoughtfully, toying with the charm hanging from her Padawan braid. "Have you ever met a prostitute, Gaff?" she asked, casually.

"No." Gaff replied, vehement. "I do not associate with those kinds of people."

"Too bad. Some of the smartest women I know are prostitutes and if anyone knows what's going to happen it's the tavern drunks. And I don't want to alert Kezner to the fact that we're looking for him. That'll only stir up the rest of the GFH." She turned towards Wren. "Can you bring me to that tapcaf? I want to take Kezner and bring him back here for questioning."

Wren gave her a feral smile, one that reminded her of an akk dog scenting prey. "Sure. Sounds like my kind of fun."

"The police won't like it," Gaff put in, hesitantly. Obviously Ro's rebuke had chastened him somewhat. "Arresting and questioning suspects falls into their jurisdiction." His tone as he said this was almost apologetic.

"Not anymore," Ro said. "They've had their chance and now I'm here. And this," she waved her hand at the boards and wall, "is my jurisdiction." Then her face softened and she put a reassuring hand on Gaff's forearm. "If the commissioner throws a fit, tell him you're acting under my orders." Then her smile returned and it was full of mischief. "It'll give us the chance to get to know each other better. Have a proper introduction and all."

She looked back at Wren, who was rocking slightly on his feet, as if eager to get going. "If there's anything you want to take along for this little outing," she said cheerfully, "I suggest you pack up. The hour draws near and the game is afoot."

Wren's lips curled into a small, lazy smile. "Oh, I can think of a few things I'd like to take along."


	13. Chapter 12: The Subtle Approach

**The Subtle Approach**

"_If you don't want to be noticed, you don't use a Star Destroyer." _

_- Timothy Zahn, _Heir to the Empire

* * *

_Troop barracks, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (24 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Wren had taken more than his fair share of prisoners and he knew that when dealing with a man like Kezner, force was far more eloquent than words. The likes of Avnen Kezner understood force; they understood a blaster to their heads. Words just rolled off of them like rain off of the hide of a Dagobah swamp sloth.

So once he got back to the barracks, he headed straight for his weapons locker, already going through a mental catalogue of all the weapons he had available to him and which might be the most useful. In this case, useful was not just limited to firepower.

He picked up his DC-15A blaster rifle first. The rifle was a big weapon and few troopers used it voluntarily, though it was a standard issue weapon. For one, the rifle weighed 4.4 kg; a not inconsiderable strain on a trooper's arms, when a single engagement could last hours, if not days. Its length, a whole 1.3 meters, also rendered it almost completely useless in close-quarter combat, which was what most ground engagements deteriorated to, seven out of ten times. Unless you wanted to use the rifle as a club, a trooper could lose valuable seconds in switching blasters. Lastly, the unstable nature of the tibanna gas used for the plasma rounds decreased the weapon's accuracy under sustained fire.

But despite its obvious drawbacks, Wren preferred the DC-15A to the DC-15S. In the right hands, the rifle was a precision tool, capable of firing a shot accurately over a distance of ten klicks. And Wren's hands were the right hands and he'd often enjoyed the challenge of pushing himself and the rifle past the limits, aiming for targets eleven or even twelve klicks away. And when going to capture a high-profile target, precision was a must.

If there was a type of combat situation Wren enjoyed as much as hand-to-hand, then it was sniping. Though, much to his regret, it was a skill rarely needed in the type of engagements he'd been sent to. Sniping was...a special ops thing. And he was no longer an ARC.

Grimacing with his thoughts, he nonetheless went carefully over the rifle with his eyes and the sensitive pads of his fingers. Like any trooper, he serviced his gear religiously, but it always paid to give it a last once-over before going into the field. You didn't survive a fight just by leaving things to chance. And there would be a fight; he knew that. No way Kezner was going to come with them peacefully.

"That's a big gun," the Jedi said from behind him. She'd followed Wren to the barracks, claiming curiosity.

"You should see my personal piece," he replied absently. He hadn't really paid her much attention since they left the MTCC. He had other things on his mind than a mystifying, crazy runt of a Jedi _cheeka_.

Wren checked the Deece's charge, then grabbed a few extra powerpacks just in case. He wouldn't need them. The DC-15A had a charge of 500 shots when turned to the lowest setting and he doubted he'd encounter the kind of opposition that would require him to empty his clip, but Wren believed in P for plenty.

Satisfied with the Deece, he slung the rifle over one shoulder and took out a single hand blaster next. Like all clones, Wren was ambidextrous and could shoot with both hands, but he'd opted for only a single side arm. He preferred the greater mobility it gave him, the possibility to shoot with one hand and stab or punch or deflect with the other. It paid to keep your options open.

He gave his hand blaster the same careful once-over he had given the rifle, once more using the pads of his fingers to check for any imperfections or scoring along the outer casing.

"You like guns, don't you?"

He finally turned towards the Padawan, who had taken up a seat on the bunk opposite his. She was watching him with considerable interest, her teal eyes carefully fixed on the movement of his hands. Her feet, covered in boots of leather so scuffed it was almost suede, were swinging gently back and forth over the ground. Somehow, the alcove in which the bunk was receded created a space that seemed to dwarf her small figure. All in all, she looked like a little bird perched in the knothole of some metallic tree.

"I like anything that packs a punch," he told her, quickly bringing up the blaster into the firing position, checking its heft in his hand. He'd recently made some modifications and he still hadn't been able to restore the balance of the weapon properly. Wren knew himself to be a good mechanic, but this kind of work had never been easy for him. That had always been Asher's forte. _He would have had this blaster up to specs the same day, _he thought moodily.

The old, familiar pain came rushing up again, but he pushed it back down and covered it with the dull, pulsing rage that always accompanied his memories of Asher's death.

The Kaminoans had reconditioned Asher over eight years ago, when they had been three standard years old. His loss was an old wound Wren had come to accept as part of himself. Just like the scar at the right corner of his mouth; a gift, courtesy of Jango Fett and incurred on the same night Asher had died. One boy's useless gesture to try and avenge his murdered brother. Odd though, how something that had happened so long ago could still affect him so deeply.

He stored the hand blaster in a low holster at his thigh; not standard issue, but a custom-made job that he preferred. Wren reached into the weapons locker again and next pulled out a knife. The knife was well over eleven inches long, with a seven-inch blade, wickedly serrated on one side. The leather wrapping of the hilt was worn from use and darkened by sweat. Also not GAR standard issue. The knife was a little souvenir he had taken off of a Jabiimi Nationalist, during his tour on that hellish mud pit. The taking of souvenirs from the battlefield was strictly prohibited by GAR regulations, but Wren had never considered the knife a mere souvenir. The blade had been a gift, as far as he was concerned. After all, the man who'd owned it prior had tried to jab it into his jugular, just before Wren had gutted him.

"It that a dead blade?" Ro asked and Wren saw that her teal eyes had gone nearly completely round with incredulity.

"Sure is," he said, carefully running his thumb over the blade to test the metal's edge. The one thing about dead blades was that they were basically only sharp pieces of metal and they did not hold an edge for long. Not a problem you had with vibroblades or songsteel; those you could cut durasteel with and they'd still stay sharp. It was why dead blades had largely vanished from the military forces in the "civilized systems". Now, most of the galaxy considered dead blades to be crude and barbaric, but he had seen the damage they could inflict and had grown a healthy respect for them. _Guess that means I'm not particularly civilized. _

"No electronics to malfunction," he said out loud. "Easy to replace and you can slug them through a dust storm on Geonosis to the jungles of Haruun Kal and they won't break down." He slid the knife into a sheath on his left bicep.

"You think you'll need all of that?" she asked and gestured to the various armaments he already had strapped on and to the gear he continued pulling out of the weapons locker.

Wren slid EMP's, smoke and sonic grenades into the pouches on his belt. "Probably not, but I like being prepared."

"You are a shining example to scouts everywhere," she said, her tone grave, but Wren saw a definite twinkle in her eyes.

"Let me ask you something," he said, turning to face her fully. "Why the hell did you want me for this and how the fek did you convince Gaff to let us go off on our own?"

Ro cocked her head to the side, a gesture Wren was beginning to recognize meant she was actually thinking over what he had said and her response. A definite difference from her usual manner, which seemed to be to blurt out whatever thought came into her head first.

"That's actually two somethings you're asking," she pointed out helpfully. When all he did was scowl at her, she smiled and explained, "You seem like someone who knows what he's doing. I respect that. I like Gaff, but for something like this, I'd like even more for someone next to me who knows what to expect. And you've been itching for this fight," she added drolly, waggling her finger at him. "Don't deny it."

"That's pretty impressive," he said coolly, crossing his armored arms over his chest. "Can you tell me what number I'm thinking of now?"

She actually laughed at that. "Don't be silly. We Jedi aren't mind readers. I'm just good at knowing what people feel and how that might affect their actions."

"You're an empath," he said with dawning realization. Of course, how effing thick could he have been? That was why she kept talking about _feeling _things. He'd thought she was just spouting the usual Jedi mysticism crap. The startled and admiring look on her face confirmed his suspicion and added a note of gratification to his discovery. He'd clearly surprised her with his deduction.

"That's right. How did you guess?"

"You're not my first empath." He infused his tone with the proper amount of salaciousness, letting her know just exactly what kind of empaths he was talking about.

She rolled her eyes, muttering in a resigned voice, "Why am I not surprised?"

He felt the next sarcastic rejoinder already forming on his lips, but suppressed the words. She had proven herself unusually tolerant of his biting remarks and was even entertaining in some of her replies, but he still had questions he wanted answers to. If today was anything to go by, then her teasing could easily draw him in, distract him from his objective. But he was a clone and had learned to focus through any distraction, from crippling pain to the cacophony of battle.

Pulling on his gloves and checking the fit of his gauntlets, he said, "You still haven't told me why Gaff is letting us go out without a whole kriffing platoon following behind."

As soon as Ro had declared her intention of taking only Wren along to arrest Kezner, Gaff had – in the most polite and respectful manner possible – tried to persuade her against it. Wren hadn't actually heard the entire argument – if you could call it an argument, since Gaff would never actually _argue _with a Jedi. Ro had pulled the young commander to one side and they'd had a very low, very private discussion that had lasted a few minutes. And they'd turned their backs on him, so he hadn't been able to read their lips either and he was still trying to decide if that had been an accident or contrived. So now he was curious, because Wren was pretty sure Gaff would rather shoot himself in the foot than leave a Jedi in Wren's company for any amount of time. Particularly _this _Jedi, because if Gaff thought he was succeeding in hiding his little crush on her, than he was even more deluded than Wren had thought.

"It wasn't really hard," she said blithely. "I simply told him that it was obvious you wanted a go at Kezner, to which he replied he'd already ordered you to steer clear of him." Her lips twitched, as she fought down an obvious smile. "I told him that that was counterproductive, given your type."

"My type?" he asked her suspiciously. "And what type would that be?"

"The type that jumps into a gundark's nest, because someone told him not to," she shot back.

Wren had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. She had him there. "Can't argue with that," he told her.

"No, you can't," she agreed loftily. "So I told Gaff that it would be better to give you a legitimate excuse to confront Kezner, so that you don't wookinate him and he winds up fashionably dead in a ditch somewhere. No longer breathing tends to cut down on the incriminating statements."

Now it was Wren's turn to cock his head at _her, _because he'd only understood about half of what she'd said. _Wookinate? _Was that even a real word? Kripes, where had she learned to talk like that? Never mind, he'd gotten the gist of it.

"And that convinced him?" he asked, just to make sure.

"Well, that and I told him I trusted you to have my back."

Wren paused for a very, very long moment at those words. With an almost detached interest he watched his fist clench, the plastoid plates of his gauntlet clacking together with the motion. The last time anyone had trusted him with anything had been on Kamino. Back then, Thrush, a command clone trainee, had trusted Wren to lead him and his men through the dangerous training exercises the clones had been subjected to on a daily basis. It hadn't lasted long. After a training exercise had ended with the death of more than half of the company, including its commanding officer's suicide, Wren hadn't been placed in a situation where others could entrust their lives to him. He'd made sure of it. It was why he was still a sergeant, despite all of his abilities and the advantages he had over the grunts due to his early ARC training.

"You don't even know me," he finally said, his voice flat and cool with not a hint of his usual sarcasm or arrogance. He didn't look at her, but he could feel her eyes on him.

"You'd be surprised," she said quietly. He heard her shift on the bunk, as if she were settling in for a longer talk. "The Force lets me know things about people. Sometimes even about situations. It lets me know, for example, whether or not the people I'm meeting are good people." She paused, as if expecting some sort of reply, but Wren found his mind curiously blank of all animosity. He wondered briefly if she was using some kind of Force trick, like she'd done at Cebz's office, but decided that that wasn't the case. He'd know if she were. The few times when he'd made the _acquaintance _of a Zeltron female, had taught him what being influenced felt like; like being in the throws of a strong painkiller, when you felt like you were wrapped in cotton, including your brain and everything appeared soft to the touch.

"I know that you are a very fierce, very intense personality," she continued, pulling him out of his thoughts. "I can feel a lot of negative emotions inside of you, what other Jedi would call the dark side, but I've seen how you use them."

He finally found his voice – and his acidity – again. "And how would that be?"

"To protect people." The words hung in the air between them for a moment and Wren slowly looked at her. Her face was very calm, very relaxed. He'd expected that look of pious preaching some Jedi got when they started expounding on all the things they knew and that other beings didn't. Ro simply looked like she was having an interesting conversation. Her lips curled into a smile, one that was soft and which seemed to invite him to shrug off his suspicions and tenseness. _Not kriffing likely. _

"I saw you during the riot."

"You mean before you tried to drown me?"

She laughed a little. "Yes, before. And don't exaggerate. That little shower did you a world of good. But," and she pointed a finger at him, "I saw how you saved that other trooper from being trampled and when you started facing off the crowd together, you positioned yourself to take the brunt of the attack."

"I like a good fight," he snapped back, uncomfortable with her interpretation of events. "There was no way I was going to let a bunch of brainless shinies get the best of the action."

"I know," she agreed casually, but her eyes were twinkling, as if she knew something about him that he himself did not. He didn't like that, not one bit. "But my point is that you're good at keeping people alive, whether you know it or not."

The words almost made him drop a canister full of Nytinite.

"_You seem to be rather good at keeping people alive, even if you might not be aware of it." _Thrush's words echoed in his head, making him grit his teeth until the tendons along his jaw creaked. Back then it had been a compliment; now, it was a mockery. He'd never been able to keep people alive, not for long anyway. And certainly never those that mattered.

He slammed the weapons locker closed, nearly bending the thin durasteel in the process.

"I'm done," he spat out at her. "Let's go."

He caught a sight of her startled face, but didn't wait around for more. He stalked out of the barracks and down the corridors towards the garage, scattering shinies along the way. He could hear the soft patter of her feet behind him, trying to catch up with his longer strides. When she did, he noticed that she walked behind him, rather than coming to his side. That was good; he needed the space right now, because her inadvertent words had brought his anger out to flare and he wasn't sure that he wouldn't strike the first person that came at him the wrong way.

His temper had always been one of the few consistencies in his life; a constant companion that he could use as both a means of distraction, as well as a source of energy. Once he gave in to his anger, everything else melted away: pain, fatigue, loneliness, everything. But it also made him lose his head; undermined much of his self-control. It had made him kill a fellow clone in hand-to-hand combat and it had nearly cost him his life in more than one battle. But although he couldn't control these flashes of temper, he had learned to deal it out in small portions, to work through his rages in the gym or on the targeting range. Or, as he was doing now, on himself. Having slammed on his bucket with more force than necessary, he used the privacy it gave him to bite into his lower lip until it bled, letting the sharp pain suffuse him and suffocate the anger for now. He tasted blood and that too helped to distract him.

Then a small form slipped past him and suddenly Ro was standing directly in his way. She reached out one hand and gently put the tips of her fingers on his chest plate. The motion made him nearly jerk back in surprise, but he kept his body locked in position. No way was he going to be seen retreating from a simple touch, no matter how utterly strange.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, her voice very quiet now. She had her head tilted back, her eyes searching his helmeted face as if she were tying to look him in the eyes. "I'm sorry if what I said upset you. I meant it as a compliment."

"It's fine," he snapped, then bit his tongue in an attempt to gain just a bit more control over his temper. Wren was many things, most of them less than nice, but he generally tried to be a fair person and this hadn't been her fault. Ro couldn't have known that her words would echo those of a dead man, nor could she have foreseen the effect they would have on him. Wren managed to suppress a sigh. No, it wasn't her fault that she had inadvertently woken memories that were still a sore point for him. "We should get going." He managed to keep his tone a bit more civil. "We want to catch Kezner on the road between the tapcaf and his home. That way, we'll only have to deal with a minimum of his cronies."

Her eyes stayed fixed on his face for a moment longer and he tried to predict what she might do next. In his experience, Jedi reacted in one of two ways to being snapped at. Either they got all karking superior and reminded you of their authority, or they got all whiny, apologetic and morally agonized. He was usually quite good at telling which one it would be, but so far, he'd been wrong with Ro every time. Her performance on the parade grounds had made him think she might be another one of those rank-conscious would-be-officers, but when he'd broken into her ship for the sheer hell of it, she'd neither been angry nor particularly put out. She'd treated it like a game, had teased and laughed as if him catching her in nothing but a towel was nothing out of the ordinary.

So he wasn't sure how she might react to his sharp tone, or the fact that he - a regular spam-in-a-can-grunt - was telling her how to accomplish Kezner's arrest.

The only thing he was somewhat sure about was that she would most likely not react like other Jedi he'd served under. And she didn't disappoint.

Ro merely nodded her head, blew her unruly bangs out of her eyes and then stepped back. Her cheerful demeanour reasserted itself almost immediately and despite himself, he found his lips wanting to turn up into a half-hearted smile. It didn't seem like anything kept her down for long.

"A man with a plan," she said, clapping her hands together. "I like that and it's a good idea. Now," she shot a quick glance down the corridor, the door to the garage at the other end. "Ladies first!" she shouted and dashed off.

Wren was so startled by her sudden exit that it took him a moment to comprehend that: a) she had just challenged him to a race and was winning, b) she was usurping his right to lead and c) she would be driving.

"That little," he muttered, then sprinted after her. No way in all Corellian hells was he going to lose to some Jedi.

He was so distracted by Ro's antics that he completely forgot about his anger.

* * *

_En route to Qualan Street, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (24 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

"Have you ever heard of a speed limit?" Wren asked her about six minutes later.

Ro laughed, a sound he was beginning to grow used to. "What's the point of driving a vehicle that can reach two-hundred km/h, if you are never going to use it?" She changed lanes, shooting in and out of a gap between a truck and a lift-harvester that closed almost as soon as they had shot through. Wren grit his teeth, the fingers of one hand digging into his seat. At least this time there was more for him to hold onto than the spindly form of the mad Jedi trying to dash him to bits with her delusions of podracing.

Gaff had heard about Wren and Ro having to share a speeder on their inspection of the first three bomb sites and had, apparently on the prompting of some reg, reserved a proper landspeeder for Ro's exclusive usage. The _Seraph-_class urban landspeeder had been one of the many bits of hardware drafted by the Republic Senate from its member systems and was, in Wren's opinion, good for speed but not much else. You couldn't really expect much from a bit of tech designed by the Naboo, but he was beginning to realize that with Ro at the controls, a land crawler would be a lethal weapon.

"So," she asked, conversationally, utterly ignoring his death grip on his seat, "did your 'source' also tell you the route Kezner was going to take?" At the word "source" she had taken her hands off of the steering yoke to make quotation marks in the air.

"Would you for effing kriff's sake keep you hands on the yoke!" he yelled as the landspeeder swerved sharply, coming alarmingly close to a stand of cabbages set up at the side of the street. The owner yelped and leaped behind his cabbage stand for cover.

"You're yelling," she pointed out calmly, easily correcting the speeder's course.

"I can yell whenever I stinking well feel like it," he growled out. "Particularly when the person I'm sharing a speeder with is trying to get me killed."

She snorted at his accusation, her expression utterly amused, as if he had just told her a great joke.

_Hundreds of fekkin' crazy Jedi out there, _he thought grimly, _and I just kriffing well have to share a speeder with the craziest of the lot. _

"You haven't answered my question," she told him.

"Ever considered being tested for mental instability?" he shot back.

"Yes," she returned without missing a beat. "I'm not crazy. I'm a genius."

"They say there's a thin line between the two." He slanted a caustic look at her. "Do you even know what a line is?"

She laughed at that. "Oh, good one, cookie. You are so getting full points for that one. Now, as much as I am enjoying your conversational witticism," she said happily, "I can't drive us about all day. The route? You know that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know it." He leaned slightly to the side, into the wind created by their passage, his face protected by his bucket. The _Seraph_ was an open canopied model, which was its most recommending feature, although Wren knew in a real firefight, it would mean utter exposure for its occupants. But he still enjoyed the feeling of space and he quickly took in the surrounding landmarks to tell him where they were. He could have used the guidance system built into the speeder's dashboard, but he preferred to use his eyes.

"Turn right at the next crossroad, straight for another two klicks, then left. We should be able to overtake Kezner that way."

Ro nodded. Despite the open canopy, hearing the other occupant was no problem. The landspeeder featured a hypersound dampner shield, which filtered out all outside noise, as well as the worst of the wind.

Ro turned right at the crossroads, the speeder cutting off a speeder bike and running a red traffic holo. Wren decided that bracing his feet against the speeder's floor would be a healthy safety precaution.

"Why didn't you tell Gaff all of this?" Ro asked him.

"Tell him what?" Wren gritted out through his clenched teeth. He was too busy tracking all of the speeders they were cutting off to really pay her any attention.

"This. About Kezner and his tapcaf meeting, where to find him and all that jizz. Seems to me that's something Gaff should have been told."

Wren gave a humourless bark of laughter. "Because the noob wouldn't have known what to do with it. Everything he learns about Kezner he turns over to the fragging local police and they don't do shit. It's a waste of Intel."

She seemed to mull that over. Wren shot her a quick glance, - as much to see her reaction, as to make sure that her hands were still where they were supposed to be – and saw that she was not happy about his revelation.

"Doesn't anyone on this planet want to work together?" she asked of no one in particular.

Still, he answered her, saying, "I do my best work alone."

"But no one likes working alone," she contradicted.

The sight of another familiar landspeeder saved him from having to answer her. "There," he said, pointing at the grimy, dark blue landspeeder. "That's Kezner."

Ro nodded, but didn't stop. Instead, she revved the speeder's engine and came alongside Kezner's speeder, momentarily heading into oncoming traffic. She glanced to the side, at the other speeder, her teal eyes going out of focus.

"What the kriff are you…" but Wren didn't get the chance to finish his question. With another nod to herself, Ro overtook Kezner's speeder just in time to avoid a line of oncoming repulsor trucks. She cut Kezner's speeder off as she switched lanes, earning herself more than a few blaring horns in the process and then shot down the street at about a hundred km/h over the speed limit. For someone who was basically a glorified cop, Ro didn't seem to have much regard for traffic laws.

"This calls for a subtle approach," she told him.

"What's the subtle approach?" he asked with mounting trepidation.

She flashed him a toothy smile. "We ask him very nicely."

Another few minutes of driving and then Ro pulled their speeder up to the side, letting the engines idle as she jumped out.

"You coming?" she called back at him.

_Yeah, once I get my kriffing legs to work again, _he thought scathingly. Kripes, he'd thought her crazy driving earlier today had been because of the urgency of the situation, but it seemed she really was a maniac on the road. _Remind me never to get on a starship with her._

"What exactly are you going to do?" he asked her, once he'd pried his hand off of the seat and followed her outside. Fekked up driver that she was, her handling of the local bureaucrats had been entertaining as well as impressive and he was curious to see how she was going to handle a man like Kezner.

"I'll get him to stop the speeder," she told him casually. "You have to take care of the speeder behind Kezner's. The people in there do not feel like a pleasant bunch."

_Escort, _he realized and unslung his blaster rifle from his shoulder. _Guess Kezner is starting to feel the heat. _

"I can do that, but how exactly are you going to get him to stop. The Force?"

"No," she said, laughing again. "With more subtlety." Which told him exactly nothing.

Kezner's dark blue landspeeder came into view. Ro watched it for a second or two, then simply stepped out into the road. Right into the path of the oncoming speeder.

"Holy kriff," he muttered, unbelievingly.

The speeder blared its horn, then the driver – whom Wren couldn't see through the tinted viewport – slammed the brakes. The speeder's repulsor's whined in protest at the sudden deceleration. Ro watched it all with only mild interest on her face, hands clasped behind her back, rocking slightly to and fro on her feet. Wren could have sworn he heard her humming a tune.

Kezner's speeder came to screeching halt, no more than an inch away from the Jedi. The force of the speeder's deceleration created a wind that briefly fluttered Ro's long hair and her electric blue shirt. She smiled at the men behind the tinted viewport, as if they were old friends she had been expecting. She speeder behind Kezner's was not so lucky. With the screech of tortured metal, it rear-ended the other speeder. Behind the two speeders, traffic was beginning to stall, horns honking as the following speeders were forced to come to an abrupt stop.

"This is subtle?" Wren muttered to himself. Fek, what did she do when she wanted to be obvious? Drop a Star Destroyer on a person?

Wren watched as Ro strolled to the passenger side of the dark blue speeder, lightly knocking on the window. "A word please, Mr. Kezner?" she asked politely.

The passenger door swung open and Kezner jumped out of the speeder, his face red with indignation. Not a tall man by far, he was still at least two inches taller than Ro and was looming over her in his anger.

"What the milking blue blazes do you think…" The leader of the GFH got no further. Wren didn't quite see what Ro did, but her hand shot out like a Corellian grass snake and Kezner doubled over, gasping for breath. That was when the passengers inside of the second speeder began stirring.

_That's my cue. _Wren came upon the second speeder from behind. The rear door was just beginning to open. He kicked it closed, denting the metal in the progress and catching the fingers of the Human within between the door and the frame. There was a satisfying _crunch _sound and a howl of pain, as the man's fingers broke. Wren actually let another man get out of the front passenger seat, before he slammed the butt of his rifle into the man's stomach. The man doubled over much like Kezner had, but still managed to reach inside of his jacket for the concealed weapon he'd kept there.

His fingers never even managed to touch the clasp of the holster. Wren grabbed the man by the forearm and jerked it up, while wrenching his own wrist forcefully to the side. The man's ulna broke with an audible snap and the hapless Human screamed in pain. Wren moved in close, slamming one of his armoured boots onto the man's foot, followed by a hard shoulder into the man's sternum. The impact sent the Human stumbling backwards, his head colliding with the edge of the open speeder door. Wren heard more bones breaking and the man went limp. Wren let the guy fall back into the speeder, then took out a Nytinite canister and threw it into the speeder with him.

With a mocking, two-fingered salute, he slammed the door closed on the astonished men within and walked away. There was a small, muffled _boom _as the canister went off, releasing the tranq gas within. Mission accomplished and it had taken less than a minute.

In the meantime, Ro had bent Kezner over the hood of his speeder, his arms behind his back and cuffed with a set of durasteel binders. The man must have regained some of his wind from Ro's earlier attack, because he was cursing up a storm, raging about government brutality.

Ro ignored him, too busy patting him down for any concealed weapons. Next to her, there was already a smile pile of knives, a knuckle duster and a thin, coiled piece of wire that looked like an improvised garrotte. Behind his bucket, Wren arched an eyebrow at her professionalism. She was actually doing a pretty good job of that, as good and thorough as any trooper.

Kezner's driver had apparently decided to join in the fun, because the man had taken out a blaster of his own and was swinging his legs out of the speeder. The blaster looked to be like a self-made job and Wren noted that fact with interest. It seemed the GFH was trying to arm itself again. Still in the process of getting out of the speeder, the driver nevertheless levelled the cobbled together blaster at Wren.

_Big mistake. _Wren lifted his DC-15A and fired off a shot directly at the man's feet. Since he'd turned the rifle to its highest setting, the shot clove clean through the permacrete, leaving behind a visible hole. The driver froze, his stubbled jaw dropping in surprise. He'd apparently not thought that Wren would actually shoot at him.

Wren gestured with the muzzle of his Deece, letting the man get a good, long look at it. This was the other reason why he'd taken the DC-15A with him. It was an impressive blaster and as sleek as any predator. Wren had found that for most wets – sentient, organic beings – just being on the wrong end of the rifle was intimidating enough. The driver was no exception.

"Back in the karking speeder, bishwag," he growled at the man.

The driver didn't need to be told twice. He dropped his blaster like it was about to bite him and practically dove back into the landspeeder. Wren pressed the trigger in quick succession, two blue bolts of plasma slamming into the speeder's hood; one so close to Kezner, it nearly scorched the man's nose. It had the added benefit of finally shutting the man up.

Ro hauled Kezner to his feet, looking from the two scorch marks on the speeder's hood to Wren. "You don't like the model?" she inquired.

"I don't like being followed."

"Uhh, you are a smart cookie," she said in delight.

"Call me that one more time," he ground out, "and the next blaster bolt is for you."

He expected her to take umbrage at the obvious threat, or at least reprimand him, but she only laughed with glee obvious in her voice.

"Anytime, cookie," she said with a challenging wink.

"Who the milking frak are you?" Kezner shouted, outraged and confused.

Ro steered him towards their _Seraph-_class speeder, his words not even denting her cheerful manner.

"I'm Ro and this is Wren," was her chipper reply, then she pitched her voice loud enough for the curious crowd gathering about them to hear. "And you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law…" As she continued rattling off a list of rights to a stunned looking Kezner, Wren slipped into the driver's seat of their landspeeder.

While not challenging, taking Kezner had been fun and he was actually feeling pretty good. The first time he'd had that feeling since being transferred to this blue milk run of an assignment. He preferred to keep that feeling alive for a while longer and clinging to the speeder's upholstery while a mad Jedi was at the wheel would not be conducive to that goal.

Having deposited Kezner in the single backseat of the speeder, Ro slid into the passenger seat without comment at the changed seating arrangement. Quite the contrary; she slid down in the seat, hands clasped before her, looking utterly content. With a grand gesture she motioned at Wren to start the engines.

"Take us home, driver. There is much yet to be toiled for and the day does grow weary."

With a quick look at her - did she ever talk like a normal mongrel? - he started the speeder's engines and got them back on the road. "You do know you're utterly insane, right?"

"I told you, I'm not crazy; I'm intelligent. And you enjoyed every minute of it."

He couldn't argue with that, but Kezner apparently could. Leaning forward from his backseat, hands still cuffed behind him, he hissed at the clone and Jedi in fury.

"You won't get away with this. This is unlawful confinement. The commissioner will hear about this."

"Oh, no doubt," Ro replied blithely, twisting a little in her seat to give Kezner a charming smile. "What a happy coincidence then that I've been wanting to have a word with him anyway."

Wren shot her a surprised look, which she couldn't see from behind his bucket. "You planned this all along?" he asked her. "That's why you agreed to take Kezner in, because you knew it would get the commissioner to the base?" He couldn't believe this. This…this was devious. He hadn't thought Jedi even knew how to spell 'devious'.

"I really do want to talk with Mr. Kezner," Ro assured Wren and their captive. "I'm just killing two blister gnats with one stone. Subtle, remember?" she teased Wren, poking his armoured side with one finger and grinning like a tooka cat with a dab of cream on its nose.

Kezner's squinting eyes were shuttling nervously between the two. "Just who the hell are you?" he demanded of Ro.

Ro turned to face Kezner once more, her look of impish delight never leaving her face. "I'm Jedi Padawan Roweena Arhen. I'm here to help."

Wren, with the help of his HUD's wrap-around vision, watched with interest as Kezner's face turned first red with anger, then slack jawed with disbelief and finally settled on pale with fright.

"That's right pus-bag. We're all kriffed." Somehow, Wren couldn't keep the delight out of his voice.

Next to him, slumped low in her seat, Ro's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "Why do people keep saying that?"


	14. Chapter 13: Enforced Harmony II

**Enforced Harmony II**

"_I would like to see anyone, prophet, king or God, convince a thousand cats to do the same thing at the same time."_

_- Neil Gaiman_

* * *

_The holding cells, the detention block, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (24 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

As far as holding cells went, the one at the Eyat Command Base was top-notch. It had a narrow, rather uncomfortable looking cot shoved in one corner and a small, retractable 'fresher in the other. In the middle was a narrow durasteel table with two straight-backed chairs on opposite sides, bolted to the floor like the rest of the furniture. And like the rest of the base, it was all an unimaginative, uniform grey. But in this case, Ro decided not to let the sad lack of taste from the base's interior decorator bother her. It was a holding cell after all and holding cells were not made to be comfortable or inviting. And grey certainly did not encourage either.

Ro, seated at one end of the table with her back to the orange-red laser shield that sealed off the cell, had her elbows up on the tabletop and her chin resting on her twined fingers. Her teal eyes watched in avid fascination as Avnen Kezner stalked up and down the small confines of the cell, arms still cuffed behind his back and raving indignantly.

On the other side of the shield stood Wren and Gaff, both troopers in equal states of annoyance for once. It appeared that neither man appreciated being called a "tank bred, tube spawn of a dupe, licking the heels of a conglomerate, credit-grubbing Republic decadency." And that was the mildest of the things the GFH leader had spouted so far. Personally, Ro had thought her own moniker, - "under grown, glowstick jabbing, Force-babbling mystic relic" – rather entertaining, but then, you couldn't really argue entertainment. One girl's fun was another man's insult.

There was the creak of plastoid as one of the troopers - Gaff, to her surprise – shifted with impatience. It seemed that Wren was familiar with the necessity of letting a prisoner stew for a while, although he did not seem to relish the practice. Not a very patient man, that Wren. But he was intriguing.

Ro was beginning to wonder where he had learned all of his very interesting skills. He knew how to gather Intel and when to hold onto it or make it public; he knew how to ingratiate himself with the locals; he had shown an impressive analytical mind when they had been sifting through the evidence of the bomb sites and he certainly knew how to handle himself in close combat. He had intimidated Kezner's people, rather than beating them into submission. True, he'd broken a few bones, but nothing that a quick application of bacta wouldn't fix. But it didn't seem to her that Gaff or the other troopers she had met so far knew how to do these things. And that was odd. From what she had been told about clones, they had been trained to do the same things. Alright, so like all armies they must have specialists, Shiv had taught her that much. But if she had pegged these men right, then they were regular infantry troops, what Shiv called dirt-grunts. And Wren was supposed to be one of them; so why did he seem to know so much about investigator stuff?

_Maybe he doesn't, _she thought. _Maybe it's not investigator stuff he knows about, but hunting stuff. _That made sense; Eda and Shiv often described themselves as hunters, rather than as an investigator like Ro was, but many of the skills were the same. _But if he's a hunter – a specialist – then why is he with the regular troops? And why am I here, if they already have someone who could hunt this rat down? Or don't they know that Wren has these skills? _She frowned a that last thought, puzzled. Now that didn't make any sense. Why would someone want to keep such valuable skills a secret, particularly now?

"Are you even listening to me?" The outraged question came from very close to her.

Ro, with her head still resting on her hands, turned to the side so she could look into the angry eyes of Avnen Kezner. "Not in particular," she replied nonchalantly. "But then, I don't have to. The recorder is on and until you come off of your high equus, there's nothing you say that I really want to listen to."

Kezner drew himself up, which, given his height of 5'7 wasn't particularly impressive when you had spent two days surrounded by armored soldiers, all of whom were a strapping six feet. _Face it buddy, _Ro thought with some amusement, _short-fries like us don't do well with the towering. _

"Do you have any idea who I am? I demand to speak with my lawyer," Kezner raged. "You have no right to hold me here, you and your officious artificial cro…"

"Quiet." Ro's pose of indolence did not change, but her voice was hard now, intense, so that although she had not raised it, the effect was the same as if she had shouted into Kezner's face. It was a trick she had learned from Shiv, who had faced down more than his fair share of bumptious brass and underlings during his time in Republic Intelligence.

Kezner's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. There was simply no denying the command in Ro's voice. "Sit," Ro told him, her tone unchanged. Kezner sat in the chair opposite hers, his movements as stiff as those of a droid in desperate need of an oil bath, but he did comply. _And all without the Force, _Ro thought with some satisfaction. _Amazing what you can order people to do when you simply expect them to do it. _

"I do have the right to detain you, Mr. Kezner, for as long as I want and without a lawyer if need be. The Enhanced Security and Enforcement Act, passed by the Galactic Senate earlier this year, gives me that right as an enforcer of the law. And I do know very well who you are," Ro said, taking the edge of command out of her words. She had gotten the man's attention, now it was time for a softer approach. "You are Avnen Abagus Kezner, thirty-eight years of age, originally from Eriadu. You immigrated to Gaftikar five standard years ago. You are married to Maraneel Kezner, also from Eriadu and you have a son, Owen Kezner, age nine. You were the former head of the United Miners Labor Division, before the Marit siege made leaving the city, even for mining, too dangerous."

"That's right," Kezner spat. "I had a job, a good job, and I was respected for it. Then that filthy band of luggage on legs got uppity ideas and made life for us little folks impossible. Do you have any idea how many of us lost our jobs when we could no longer leave the city perimeter? How many people lost their farms, because they were being attacked by that lizard scum, or simply lost their lives because they refused to give into fear?"

"So instead of working in the kelerium and norax mines, you formed a militia." It wasn't a question, but Kezner answered it anyway. Ro figured that he had been waiting quite a while to vent his spleen like this and wouldn't need much encouraging either way.

"You bet your glowstick, I did. No way was I gonna let some scaly-headed reptile ruin the life I'd built for myself and my family."

"Didn't the Marits technically build this life for you?" Ro put in. "I mean, they're the ones that built all of the cities and outlying farms. Every single building, park and landing pad was designed and built by them."

Kezner's mouth twisted into a thin line. "They were hired to do a job. That doesn't entitle them to anything but their agreed upon pay. And they were paid," he added emphatically.

"I know," Ro answered easily. "But no where in that contract did it say that they had to leave again afterwards."

Kezner flushed in anger, not a very appealing sight on a man with a pockmarked skin, hook nose and a receding hairline. "It didn't say they could stay either. They were the hired help; that they leave after the job was done is implied. You don't ask your salky-walker to sleep in your house either, after the mutt is done doing its business."

Ro decided to leave off arguing semantics. She had accomplished what she had wanted: getting Kezner to open up and talk. It was an angry, frustrated opening, but she didn't think she could ever reach any kind of level of intimacy or trust with this man. His prejudices were absolutely foul. But at least he was dropping his shields, radiating his emotions freely and without restraint. That was good, because it meant that she would not have to sift through false feelings. If she handled this right, then the idea of lying to her wouldn't even occur to him.

"And now?" she inquired, encouraging him to expound on the subject he was most comfortable with. "There's no more siege. The mines are open again, so you could go back to work. But instead, you have decided to create another organization, the Gaftikar for Humans group. Another banner under which all Marit opposition can meet." Ro leaned her cheek against the palm of one hand. "You do like to bash on the Marits, don't you?"

"Well it's their fault!" Kezner exploded with such force that Wren and Gaff stirred uneasily behind the laser shield. Ro could feel their tension like a palpable thing, hard and skittish. It was clear that both men were a sneeze away from storming into the cell and taking Kezner down. Or shoot him, in Wren's case.

But no matter how little she might like him, Ro would not allow Kezner to be harmed right now, when he was in her custody. Besides, aside from the fact that he would hardly have a chance of overpowering her in the best of circumstances, the man was still restrained with her binders. So Ro sent a tendril of soothing energy towards the two men, trying to ease their tension, get them to relax again. It seemed to work with Gaff. As before in Cebz's office, he seemed more than willing to embrace peace. Wren was…different. Once more, her efforts no more than touched his surface emotions. Beneath that was still an impenetrable shield of intense, barely controlled anger that surrounded his core essence and which in Ro's perception crackled like lightning. _You are a complicated one, aren't you, cookie? Complicated and intriguing. _

Ro forced her mind back to the matter at hand. She could puzzle over the mysterious sergeant later. Right now, she had a suspect to interrogate. "Could you explain that to me," Ro asked, her tone curious. "I'm not quite sure how the Marits fit into the fact that you refuse to go back to the work you came to this planet to perform."

Kezner blew out a breath and sunk a little further in the chair, trying to shift his body into a more comfortable position. His arms and shoulders, no doubt, were beginning to ache from the unnatural position they had been forced into.

"The Marits started it all," Kezner began. "The Human government hired them to build the cities, because they had a reputation for being brilliant and efficient engineers and mathematicians. _We _could have done just as well," he added bitterly, "but the Marits were cheaper. So they were brought to the planet along with the rest of us colonists. They built the cities while we lived in these makeshift camps. When the cities were done, we moved into them."

"And the Marits?" Ro asked.

Kezner snorted. "On the day of the inauguration the Marits sent these envoys to every city. They expected to be sworn into the government, like they were citizens." Another derisive snort. "They kept babbling about proportional representation and how it was a waste for them to return to their homeworld when there were nice houses for them to live in right here, which they had built." Kezner pulled a face, his long mouth twitching downwards. "That's the one thing they never understood. That they were hired to do a job, not being invited to share the planet. So we drove them out."

"To show them the error of their ways," Ro guessed.

Kezner shrugged his shoulders, rounded from years of working in the cramped space of the mines. "When a guest overstays his welcome, you sometimes have to give him the boot, literally. But the Marits just wouldn't face reality and so they went running to the Republic." He glared at Ro and the two waiting clones, standing sentry outside of the confines of his cell. "The big, honorable Republic," he mocked. "All about democracy and fairness. Yeah, democracy my filth-encrusted boot. All the Republic ever cared about was what _we _could give _it. _The Republic doesn't care which one of us holds the planet, just as long as we pay our taxes and it gets the rock-lions share of anything we can get out of the earth, so that those brain rotted senators can keep their nice, lofty apartments at 500 Republica. It's all about creds," he added resentfully. "And the Marits promised the Senate just that; higher production in the mines meant a bigger share of the profit for the Republic in taxes and trade agreements. And the Senate believed them."

"So the Senate backed the Marits' rights, because the Marits' reputation as workers made their claim believable. Could they have upped the production rate?" Ro wondered out loud.

"It doesn't matter," Kezner exclaimed so loudly, that Ro knew it was true. The man was just too obstinate to admit it. "What matters is that they had no right to approach the Senate in the first place and the Senate had no right to back them. But after that we had no choice. So we fortified our cities and we fought for our rights, Senate be damned. And when Dooku and the CIS emerged and offered us an alternative to the corruption of the Republic and a return of _our _rights, then we took it. How were we to know the CIS never intended to fight for us like they had promised?" There was a world of bitterness and disappointment in those words and Ro couldn't help but feel just a touch of sympathy.

Kezner wasn't all that wrong. The Republic was largely financially self-interested, a trait that had been causing more and more trouble over the years. Part of the reason why the Trade Federation had blockaded Naboo eleven years ago, was as a means of protesting the taxation of trade routes. An excuse to hide behind, as it had turned out, but a legitimate excuse nonetheless.

"And as if getting the Republic involved wasn't enough," Kezner went on. "With all the fuss the Martis made in the Galactic Senate, Shenio Mining got wind of our kelerium and norax deposits." He glared at Wren and Gaff. "You might think you're here to _protect _us," he spat, "but all you're really here for is to keep us in line while Shenio guts this planet for everything its worth. Heroes of the Republic_, _my milking backside," and he actually spat on the cell floor. "You're nothing but corporate tools, who take by force what the company can't get legally." He turned his angry green eyes back on Ro. "You know, it was Shenio that seconded the Marits' petition for Republic intervention in the Senate. And now they've set up shop and they sure as all milking hell are making sure that none of us locals are getting a chance to mine the shafts we dug. That's why I'm not working. Because the darling of the Republic is shutting me out and because the lizards that are running the show now caused this whole milking mess."

He was leaning forward now, almost sprawled across the durasteel table in his fervor, eyes blazing and face crimson with agitation.

"So you decided to set off some bombs to pay everyone back." Ro threw the accusation out there coolly, careful to keep anything but idle curiosity out of her voice and making sure her body projected none of her feelings. But her Force-senses were wide open and all fixed on the man seated across from her.

So she saw and felt how her words threw him for a loop, disturbing his building anger. There was a near pile-up of emotions: _confusion, bewilderment, _then dawning _realization, _as Kezner finally understood why he was here. This understanding was quickly followed by _outrage, anger, _but also hints of _fear _and a general sense of _rejection_ of the entire concept. Even before he opened his mouth, Ro knew he wasn't their bomber.

"That's absurd!" Kezner yelled, trying to rise from his seat, but was unbalanced by his hands cuffed behind his back. "You think I'm the bomber? What kind of Gungan-brained, idiotic, spice-addled…" he spluttered, then managed to regain some measure of composure. "What evidence do you have?"

"You're track record, for one," Ro said. She might be convinced now that Kezner was not the bomber - his feelings were too genuine to be a lie - but she still wanted to let him stew just a bit more. He wasn't who she was looking for, but that did not mean he might not have some valuable information for her.

For effect, Ro glanced down at a datapad lying before her, rattling off the Intel displayed there, though she knew most of it by heart. "Three cases of armed and aggravated assault, twelve cases of vandalism, caught twice in acts of minor arson. Oh," she looked up at him, batting her eyelashes a little, "and let's not forget the countless charges, accusations and suspected cases of blackmail, intimidation and that little bit about inciting a riot." She waited a beat, then added, "And I don't think I have to mention all of the rather unsavoury details of your time in the militia."

"We were at war," he growled.

"You're not at war now."

"That's what you think. As long as those Marit interlopers, along with their Republic lackeys and the Shenio dupes are here, the Humans of Gaftikar will remain at war." He narrowed his eyes at her. "And that includes you, Jedi."

Ro was about to reply, when another voice, male, beat her to it.

"What in the great galaxy's blue blazes is going on here?!"

Everyone – the troopers, Ro and Kezner – turned towards the new voice.

Standing in the detention block's corridor was a man dressed in a red police officer's uniform, a small paunch of a belly beginning to spill over his black belt. His face was almost as red as his uniform and the large handles of his moustache were quivering with fury.

Ro was the first to speak. Both pale blond eyebrows raised, Ro stood to face the man. "Commissioner, I believe what you are seeing here is an interrogation," Ro said, her voice as sweet and smooth as Alderaani honey. Wren threw her a quick look, but with his helmet on, Ro couldn't see his expression and she was too focused on the commissioner to probe his emotions. She had a role to play and she'd better get on with it, though she wished the man could have had the common decency to wait until after her interrogation. Interrupting an interrogation was the height of rudeness among law enforcers.

"Of course," she continued in the same vein, "I can understand your confusion. Judging by your precinct's arrest record, you've had fairly little practice in this aspect of police work."

_A hit. A palpable hit, _she thought, watching as the commissioner's face went from red to a very impressive shade of purple. The ends of his moustache twitched like a Twi'lek's lekku, further indication of his fury.

"How dare you?" he breathed out, almost exhaling fire in the process. "You little…"

"I'm just going to stop you right there," Ro said, holding up a hand. "Before you say anything that might make me cross later. Commander. Sergeant." She gestured at the laser shield. "If you would, please?"

Wren didn't move a muscle, but he was still watching her with an intensity she could feel even through the dark, reflective glass of the visor. Gaff sprang to deactivate the shield for her.

"Finally." Kezner jumped to his feet, eyes fixed on the commissioner. "Gor'Dan, it's about time. I've been stuck here for…"

"You can sit right back down, Mr. Kezner," Ro informed the man. "We're not done here."

"Yes, you are." Commissioner Gor'Dan interjected. "I don't care who you are, but you have no right to just barge in here and usurp my jurisdiction."

Ro fought the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. Goodness, but people thought well of themselves around here. She hadn't even stepped out of the holding cell yet and she was already being lectured on propriety. _Kind of reminds me of my time with Master Adriav, _she thought ruefully. Her first Master, back at the Temple, Jedi Knight Sarika Adriav, had always been fond of the proper way of doing things. One of the many, many reasons why her apprenticeship with the Zeltron Jedi had not worked out.

Pushing the past out of her mind and ignoring Commissioner Gor'Dan, Ro stepped out of the cell and pointedly reactivated the laser shield. Kezner protested loudly as the orange-red glow once more suffused the cell, but no one was paying him any attention. Ro walked past the two troopers to stand nearly toe to toe with Gaftikar's police commissioner.

For a moment, the two did nothing but size each other up; Kezner, Gaff and Wren watching from behind, their interest and fascination with the silent confrontation an almost physical thing to Ro.

Ro knew she had to play this very carefully. One of the first things her adoptive parents had taught her, was to never antagonize the local law enforcement. Getting anything done without their help was practically impossible, even for the best investigator. But Shiv and Eda had also taught her not to be a stooge. When push came to shove, you had to make it clear who was in charge. It was time that the good commissioner manned up and realized what was at stake. And if Ro had to slam his face into the facts, then she would do so.

Without breaking eye contact, Ro reached behind her to the small of her back and unclipped a small leather wallet from her belt. With a move made fluid through repetition, she flipped the wallet open and displayed to the commissioner the golden shield inside. "This," she said firmly, "does give me the right."

The commissioner glanced dismissively at the badge, then did a quick double take. The badge was round, engraved with the Galactic Republic's Bendu and the Order's winged star. Along the edges of the badge were engraved the words: To serve the Force. To protect the People. This was the official badge of the Jedi investigators, given to very few among the Order, but every law enforcement branch in the explored galaxy knew it. The badge carried with it certain privileges, but also meant the Jedi who displayed it was willing to shoulder certain responsibilities. Like taking the blame when the poodoo hit the fan.

"Maybe," Ro suggested quietly, "we can discuss this some place more comfortable." And she inclined her head down the corridor, towards Gaff's office. "Unless you want the entire base to hear what I have to say to you?" Ro kept her tone polite, but there was no mistaking the durasteel behind the words. She would like to do this as civilly as possible, but if she had to, she'd do it the hard way, too.

The commissioner had gone pale at the sight of the badge, but at Ro's words he managed to regain a measure of control and official dignity. "Of course," he ground out, even achieving the barest level of civility.

"Gor'Dan!" Kezner protested. "You can't actually mean to…"

"Shut it, Avnen," Gor'Dan hissed. "You don't know what you're dealing with here."

_And that pretty much sums up this entire mess, beginning to end, _Ro thought, but kept it to herself.

She turned towards Gaff and Wren, indicating the two troopers should accompany her and the commissioner. She wanted the two troopers present when she had her showdown with Gor'Dan. She didn't want to add to the man's upcoming humiliation, but they'd worked hard and after seeing how Gor'Dan had lain into Gaff the day before, Ro thought it only right that the commander get to see the commissioner taken down a notch or two. And Ro thought it was time that Gaff learned a different way to deal with uppity officials. He was a good commander, with a good head on his shoulders; she'd seen that today. He didn't deserve to be treated like a whipping boy and being present while she tried to talk some sense into Gor'Dan would reinforce his authority with the man.

She invited Wren along just for the sheer hell of it. The man was a wildcard and Ro had learned that those were always useful to have about, no matter what the situation. Besides, he had the uncanny ability of throwing people off of their game and that could be useful.

Gor'Dan seemed about to protest the inclusion of the clones, but decided at the last minute to remain silent instead. His moustache quivered though and Ro wondered how he could ever question a potential perp with so obvious a tell for his emotional state.

She took the lead, remembering how to get back to Gaff's office from here. Once everyone was inside, Ro palmed the door closed and turned back towards the assemblage of men before her. For a moment, she could not suppress the twitch of her lips that came at the sight that greeted her. It seemed there was a minor snafu over rank going on between Gaff and Gor'Dan. The commissioner had obviously tried to sit in Gaff's chair, something the commander had apparently taken offence at. Now they were facing each other, both with a hand on the back of the chair, glaring daggers. Though, of course, in Gaff's case, that was a pure guess on Ro's part. He was still wearing his helmet.

Wren, she noted, had taken a strategic position by the wall, protected on two sides and his back by the corner, but capable of overseeing the entire office. Arms crossed loosely over his chest, she noticed that his right hand was very close to the sidearm holstered at his hip. Clearly, despite his relaxed demeanour, Wren was as tense as everyone else in the office and ready to take a more….proactive stance on matters.

Ro had had just about enough. She was no stranger to testosterone and on occasion, an overdose of the stuff could be amusing. But she wasn't about to have blood spilt because of some male pride issue. It was time the people of Gaftikar learned to pull on the same string. Putting two fingers to her lips, Ro let out an ear-shattering whistle.

All three men practically levitated in surprise at the sound; clearly the clones hadn't had their baffles turned up in their helmets. Everyone turned to stare at her.

"It seems," Ro said cheerfully, "that every time I enter an office on this planet, there are people who are willing to get at each others throats in it. Now," she pointed firmly at the two chairs at the commander's desk. "Sit and I don't care where, just park those buttinskis and let's get on with it."

Gaff indicated the chair that was normally his. "Commander," he said respectfully, "you should be seated first."

Gor'Dan looked from Gaff to her suspiciously. "Commander?" He repeated. "I thought you were an investigator?"

Ro slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Are we back to this again?" She asked in exasperation. "You," and she pointed at Gaff, "sit." And the finger moved to his chair. Without a word of protest, he sat. "You," and now she turned her finger on the commissioner, "sit in that one." And she pointed to the opposite chair. Like Gaff, Gor'Dan sat without a word of protest. Ro moved to the side of the desk, facing all three men. She wanted to be able to keep an eye on them.

"First off," she began, turning her attention to Gaff. "I've already told you, I'm not a commander. I don't just say that for fun, either. I'm a civilian specialist, remember? An independent agent. So from now on it's Ro and only Ro. And could you please take off the helmet," she added. "I would much rather actually look at the person I'm talking to."

"Of course…Ro," Gaff said and hastily drew off the helmet. Ro glanced at Wren, but his helmet was already clipped to his belt, his brown eyes sharp as they watched her. He was…waiting for something.

Ro decided to focus on the commissioner next. That was what needed addressing the most, because she wasn't here to figure out enigmatic troopers. She was here to catch a bomber.

"I am a Jedi investigator," Ro said to Gor'Dan. "The badge is real. You know the penalty for carrying a fake, and I've worked too hard to get where I am to spend the rest of my life in a penal colony on Timbra Ott. So we'll just take my id as valid, shall we?" She asked the question pleasantly enough, but did not give Gor'Dan the time to reply.

"Do you understand what this means?"

For a moment, Ro thought Gor'Dan might start shouting again. The handles of his grey-blond moustache were certainly quivering like freshly plucked quetarra strings. But the commissioner took a deep breath, crossed his arms over his beefy chest and nodded slowly.

"It means," he intoned slowly, like a schoolboy reciting an unwelcome lesson, "that you are the highest ranked law enforcement official on the planet. It means that you are," he paused and took another bracing breath, "my superior for the duration of your stay on Gaftikar."

Gaff threw her a startled and surprised look; clearly, he had not known the extent of her authority in her capacity as a Jedi investigator. That wasn't surprising; few did. Jedi investigators often worked deep undercover, gathering Intel on criminal syndicates; that made it essential that people outside of the Order knew as little about them as possible, to minimize the risk of detection.

She felt nothing from Wren after this revelation. The other trooper had clammed up emotionally like a nyork. But from the subtle shifting of his body and the brief flicker of his eyes, Ro could tell that he had not known about a Jedi investigator's rank either. And he didn't seem to be happy about it.

But Gor'Dan _was_ most definitely not happy about it. Ro didn't need the Force to tell her that the older Human was upset and put-out about this development. She could understand that. It couldn't be easy having to defer to a nineteen-year-old under the best of circumstances. Looking at her, he saw a kid with a badge, working for the enemy. Ro needed him to see her as an ally.

Ro brushed back her bangs, nodding absently. "That's right. And from now on, I require your full cooperation, Commissioner. I've heard about some of the," she cocked her head slightly to the side, searching for the right word, "misunderstandings, between the police and the troopers. That stops right here and now. From now on, when you receive a request from Commander Gaff," and she inclined her head respectfully to the man, "you can consider it a direct order from me. No more territorial squabbling, no more missed communiqués and no more understaffing of patrols. And Commissioner," she crossed her arms over her own chest, propping one hip against the desk and leaning slightly towards the seated man, "no more holding back or losing information. I want all the files you have on the bomber case transferred via secured comm channel to the base and I do mean _all _of the files."

Commissioner Gor'Dan's eyes flicked to her briefly and Ro could hear a sharp, angry intake of breath from Gaff. Clearly the commander had not suspected Gor'Dan of such erstwhile sabotage.

Stiffly, Gaftikar's commissioner nodded again. Ro could feel the _resentment _and _anger _roiling off of the man like sluggish, oily waves. It was a most unpleasant feeling, mostly because Ro was by nature a very friendly person. She didn't like browbeating someone into submission. It was time to change mag-lev tracks.

Covertly, she began emanating soothing empathic signals, trying to smooth out the wrinkles his anger was creating in the Force.

Putting one hand on the commissioner's red-clad shoulder, Ro waited until his eyes met hers. "Commissioner, I understand that you think the Republic and I are the enemy here. No, let me finish." And she held up her other hand, cutting the man off just as he was getting ready to protest. "I want you to really listen to me. I _understand._" She gave his shoulder a slight squeeze, trying to get him to pay attention as much to her words as to the sentiment behind them. "The Republic came here, fighting for the Marits who had been threatening and killing your people for months. You are a man of the law and a keeper of the peace and yet, you could do nothing against the people threatening those laws, because they were being backed by the very same government who'd passed those laws. And when the Republic sent its troops, it just got worse. I mean, the Republic is supposed to stand for law and order, just like you do, but instead, they brought more chaos and death." Her voice had gone low and quiet by now, her words meant for Gor'Dan alone, but Gaff and Wren had no problem hearing her. The office had suddenly gone very, very quiet.

"And in the wake of that chaos, you didn't just lose people you were sworn to protect, you lost some of your own as well." It wasn't a question, but Gor'Dan nodded nevertheless. There was a shine to his eyes that spoke of unshed tears and Ro could feel his _grief _and _regret, _as well as a general sense _helplessness_ and undirected _anger_.

"Like the officer who died during the recon of Eyat."

"Yes." The word came out strangled by almost as much grief as anger. This had been a wound that had been festering for quite some time. "Yes, we lost Officer Dail in a routine follow up on some suspicious activity. He died because he got in the way of Republic Commandos casing the city, seeing where our weak spots are. And I lost even more of my officers during the attack, shot down by clone troopers when they were trying to keep the citizens from panicking."

"Those commandos didn't kill Officer Dail, Commissioner, and I think you know that." Ro said it gently, but there was no way to blunt this truth. "They used his stun baton on him. They tried to _stun _him, not kill him. He died because of an unreported heart problem; something he might not have even known about. His death was an accident. As to the others," Ro heaved a sigh. "They were following orders. Just like the soldiers back then and the soldiers here now are following orders. Both sides were just trying to do what needed to be done. Commissioner," she tilted her head, trying to recapture the man's gaze. "I'm sorry."

There was a pause that felt like an eternity. Ro could feel the attention of the two troopers on her. She wondered how this laying out of the facts must sound to them, but did not divert her eyes from the man sitting before her. "I know it's late in coming and I know it means fairly little, in the greater scheme of things, but I am sorry. I'm sorry that your officers died and I'm sorry it had to come to this in the first place."

Ro removed her hand from the commissioner's shoulder, sitting back against Gaff's desk to give the man room to process her words. Ro knew – she _felt _– that despite all the trouble he'd been making, Commissioner Gor'Dan was essentially a good person. He was, like everyone else in this city, simply overwhelmed by the situation; too personally involved to go on with everyday life, like nothing had happened.

After a few moments of silence, Ro continued. "I know you feel guilty over the lives that were lost, but Commissioner, lives are being lost right now. Eight people died during the explosion at the residential housing and there are more still in intensive care that might not make it. Humans and Marits alike. There's someone out there who is willing to kill others indiscriminately and I want to find him and stop him and I know you want that too. All I ask," she swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry her throat felt. "All I ask is that you help me do so. Help me protect the people you swore an oath to. I'm not asking you to like me, or the soldiers or the Marits, but I am asking you to do your duty and not let your feelings cloud your judgement."

Gor'Dan looked down at the polished tips of his shoes, studying them with intensity, as if hoping they might reveal the secrets of the galaxy to him. "What do you need from me?" he asked at last, his voice gruff.

Ro breathed out a quiet sigh of relief. "Like I said, the files of all your findings. But I would also like to see past case files concerning acts of arson and information you might have of people who have been involved with radical groups before."

Gor'Dan twirled one end of his moustache, nodding thoughtfully. "We can do that. Gaftikar hasn't been settled for long, so our crime rate has been fairly low, so far. And the screening process for applicant immigrants was fairly strict." He shot her a questing look. "You want the dead records as well?"

Ro nodded. The dead records were what cops around the galaxy called those files that contained information on cases that had been…well, swept under the rug, more or less. Nothing ever went undocumented, but a cop could make sure that those documents disappeared into a discreet little box, never to be looked at again. The reasons for doing so were as diverse as the sentient species found throughout the Republic. It could be that the perp was a minor, who had committed a stupid mistake that might ruin the rest of his life. Could be that the cop and the family involved were friends, and the investigator in charge wanted to protect their feelings. Could be bribes were involved. Either way, the result was the same. The file ended up in an out of the way corner and a settlement was reached outside of court or any other official channels. But Ro wanted a look at those dead records. They often held secrets unobtainable to an outsider, particularly in such a small community as Eyat.

"We still need to determine if the rat is a local or someone who's recently arrived," Ro explained.

The commissioner grimaced. "Time was, I would have sworn on my mother's apron strings that no local could do this, but…" He cast a jaundiced eye at the two clones, who had remained silent throughout the interview. He shrugged, foregoing whatever he might have said. "As to newcomers, not many of those. Gaftikar wasn't exactly on the tourist holos even before the Wars. Only newcomers so far are the GAR and Shenio."

"Do you have files on the Shenio employees?" Ro wanted to know. "Background checks and such?"

Gor'Dan shook his head. "No. Shenio insisted they were outside of Gaftikar's authority and didn't need to go through proper channels. Most of their employees are droids anyway." And he grimaced. "That hit the local economy hard, I can tell you."

"So I've heard," she murmured quietly. The day was finally catching up with Ro and she was beginning to feel her exhaustion. All of the mental activity, not to mention the stress of running through a burning building and apprehending a suspect had put a strain on her. She felt bruised. And she'd been using the Force all day, first at the bombing sites, then to get into the burning residential complex and finally during her interrogation of Kezner and during this interview. A clenching in her stomach reminded her that she also hadn't eaten since that morning's breakfast either. But she needed to end this first, hopefully on a positive note.

"Can I count on your cooperation, Commissioner?" She asked. "Can I rely on you and your officers to work with me and the garrison?"

Gor'Dan heaved a heavy sigh, looked down at his shoes again, then back at Ro. "Yes," he told her. "You can count on me and my men. I've been…" he trailed off, struggling with himself for a moment. "I've been selfish, losing sight of the bigger issue. It's time to move on, whether I like it or not." He met Ro's eyes and she was relieved to see a determination in them that was quite different from the obstinacy of the previous day. "Crime doesn't wait for you to get your house back in order. I'll see that you get those files tonight." He stood, then turned towards Gaff.

"I…" he cleared his throat, obviously feeling uncomfortable. "I owe you an apology, Commander. I have been acting most unprofessionally and…well, I shouldn't have taken my feelings out on you. I'll send you a schedule for patrols, so that we can coordinate our efforts in the future."

Gaff was clearly startled by this unexpected change in attitude, but he stood promptly form his chair, nodding his head in gratitude and reaching out one hand for the commissioner to take. Ro fairly beamed in pleasure at the gesture. This was a good man, no doubt about it.

"Thank you, Commissioner," Gaff said. "I'll be looking forward to working with you." There was not a trace of sarcasm in his words, nor a hint of ill will in his tone at the abuse he'd had to suffer at the hands of Gaftikar's officials. It confirmed everything Ro had come to suspect about the clone commander. This was a man who desired nothing more than peace and order. It was an oddly endearing trait.

The commissioner was clearly startled at the offer of friendship, but he only hesitated a moment before he grasped Gaff's hand and shook it. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then," Commissioner Gor'Dan said. The poor man looked like he couldn't quite grasp the change in his own attitude. Ro just hoped she hadn't overdone it with the Force, but she'd woken nothing that hadn't already been there. Still, even a tired surgeon could end up wielding a laser scalpel like a sledgehammer and there was no doubt that she was tired.

There was a near silent _swish_ and Ro turned just in time to see Wren stalking out of the office, helmet once more jammed over his face. He was trailing a roiling miasma of _disgust_ and_ irritation, _as well as the seemingly ever-present _anger. _Quite the change from the almost happy mood he'd been in when they went out together to arrest Kezner.

_Now there's a man who doesn't know how to handle peace, _Ro thought and felt a pang go through her. She wondered what kind of a life he must have had, to only find contentment during moments of chaos and violence.

She was startled out of her thoughts by a light touch on her arm and the soft calling of her name.

"Yes?" she asked, rubbing at her eyes, which felt crusty and heavy. Gaff was standing next to her now and Ro realized that they were the only ones left in the office. Commissioner Gor'Dan had left without her noticing. Force, she was exhausted.

"I asked if you were alright?" Gaff repeated. "Are your lungs still bothering you? I can call Wess."

Ro smiled at the concern in his brown eyes. He was sweet. It made her want to hug him, but she controlled the impulse. "I'm fine, but thank you. I just need some sleep." She stretched. "I think I'll hit the rack. We're going to have to continue with the investigation tomorrow."

He stepped back a little, once more establishing proper boundaries between them. Clasping his hands behind his back, he nodded formally to her. "Of course. I will see to it that you are kept informed, should something come up."

"Thanks, Gaff," she said and gave him another, heartfelt smile. She left the office, heading through the corridors, back towards the landing pad and the _Mockingbird._

Artee was there to greet her. Fully recovered from his ordeal of coming face to face with a clone trooper, her little astromech tootled at her in concern, but did not interrupt his work of upgrading the ship's security measures. Artee was determined that no clone would ever slice through their locks again.

She patted him on his domed head as she passed him, her feet practically dragging across the floor. It was difficult to muster up enough energy to lift them properly.

Once back in her cabin she fell onto her bunk, barely bothering to undress. She was asleep almost instantly.


	15. Chapter 14: Vital Communications III

**Vital Communications III**

"_Power changes everything till it is difficult to say who are the heroes and who the villains." _

_- Libba Bray, _The Sweet Far Thing

* * *

_Chancellor Palpatine's office, Republic Executive Building, Galactic City, Coruscant, Core Worlds, 21 BBY (24 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, also known as Dark Lord of the Sith Darth Sidious, steepled his long fingers and gave the holo in front of him his best, kindly old politician's smile.

"Ah, Madame Director Lucara, how can I be of service to you, today?"

His civility momentarily threw the woman on the other side of the holoprojector, distracting her from what Palpatine had no doubt had been a carefully cultivated pique. He watched her struggle for a moment, keeping a more self-satisfied smile from touching the veneer of his role as genteel and benign Chancellor of the Republic. But in this office, no one bested him at manipulation.

The woman cleared her throat. "Yes, ahm, Chancellor Palpatine, no doubt you know why I am contacting you directly?" She was trying to infuse her words with a measure of haughty injury, but she was clearly thrown off of her game by his opening ploy. But he was not.

Palpatine gave the woman a grave nod. "I can well imagine. Am I right in supposing that the situation on Gaftikar has not been remedied?"

"Yes," Lucara practically hissed the word, jumping on the opening he had provided for her with the eagerness of an acklay scenting blood. "There has been another attack today. This time, the bomber has targeted two locations. One, a warehouse in the outer districts. The other," she gave a dramatic pause, "an apartment building in the residential area."

Palpatine gave her the obviously expected reaction of shock and dismay. "That is appalling," he said, lowering his head mournfully, then half-raising his eyes to look at her slightly flickering holographic image. "Was there anyone hurt?" he asked, careful to keep his voice concerned and infused with a hope that, despite the odds, there were no casualties.

Lucara drew herself up, righteousness in every line of her narrow, angular features. "Latest reports indicate eight casualties on site and at least two dozen critically injured in the burn units at local hospitals. The doctors are certain that at least three of the other critical patients will die."

Her voice, Palpatine noted, held a quivering note in it that was almost like anticipation. Ah, the macabre effect. There was nothing so fascinating as tragedy right on your doorstep, so long as it did not cross the threshold.

He kept his face sorrowfully averted. "I am terribly sorry to hear that. I will immediately ask my staff to send my deepest condolences to the families." He shook his head slowly from side to side. "What a terrible, terrible tragedy."

"Eh, yes," Lucara hurried to agree with him. "Yes, it is. And it is because of the depth and horror of this tragedy that I had to insist on speaking with you personally."

"Of course, Madame Director," Palpatine agreed amiably. "I would be more than happy to help the people of Gaftikar in any way that I can." _As long as it doesn't take more than a few placating pre-recorded holos, _he thought sourly. This entire business on Gaftikar had already taken up too much of his time as it was. The planet itself did not really interest him. It was a small and unimportant world, no matter how you looked at it. But the unfolding events there had become an irritating itch to him that he simply could not scratch, nor could be distracted from. Someone was wreaking havoc on the planet and it was not by his orders. While Gaftikar played no role in his personal plans, he did not like the idea of independent agents running around, to become possible complications in his overall plan. Balancing both sides of the war was a delicate business and any threat - no matter how small - that might unsettle that balance needed to be addressed. Hence the fact that he was answering the increasingly numerous and frantic comm calls from Shenio Mining's CEO personally, rather than letting one of his many aides take care of the matter.

Lucara leaned forward, so that it appeared as if her body was almost stretched over his desk. A single strand of her short, grey-streaked black hair fell out of her carefully coiffed bob, to flop against her cheek. Palpatine fought the reflexive instinct to lean away from her holographic image. Really, she was quite an annoying creature.

"You _can_ help, Chancellor," she intoned with fervor. "You can help by sending more clones to the planet and declaring martial law."

It was not often that Palpatine was caught by surprise. As a powerful Sith, he was more than capable of telling what a being might do or say next. More often than not, because he had guided events to that specific outcome. But Lucara's demand truly caught him off guard. And he did not like it.

"Clones? Martial law?" he asked, not needing to fake his startlement. "Isn't that a bit of an overreaction at this time, Madame Director?"

She actually thumped her fist against her desk, her angular face sharpening to thin lines of anger. "No, it is not," she said emphatically. "The planetary leaders are absolute incompetents and so are the police. This bomber is only the pinnacle of what has become a mountain of lawlessness and mayhem. Undoubtedly you've read my reports on the shameless vandalism Shenio was subjugated to upon our arrival onplanet."

"Yes, yes, of course," he soothed, though he had done no such thing. That was what underlings were for, after all.

"Well, the police has done nothing about it and now we've lost a full shipment of processed ore and two of the heavy mining drones and three KM1 mining droids in the first bombing. Those droids are expensive, Chancellor." She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly trying to impart some threat. "As was the ore that we lost. In fact, I'm not sure that Shenio can continue its _donations _to the Republic shipping yards at Kemla in face of such heavy losses."

Ah, so this was the bargaining point Lucara was placing her creds on. Shenio Mining had, before the war, been a rather unimportant and minor mining company. But with the beginning of the Clone Wars and the heavy taxation and drafting implemented on all companies that could somehow further the war effort, companies that produced non-military essentials had suddenly found themselves in a financial paradise. Their competitors were called upon to supply most of their goods at the lowest cost possible, or else risk being declared non-compliant or traitorous, or, much worse, subjugated to constant audits by the Treasury.

But the Republic had no interest in companies like Shenio Mining, who mostly mined and processed ores used for construction. As such, these companies were left to operate according to business as usual, and some, like Shenio, had had enough foresight to profit from the changed circumstances. Shenio had cornered the market on supplying the ores necessary to rebuild battle-damaged cities across Republic space and by Palpatine's reckoning their profit margin must have increased by at least sixty-five percent over the last year. If the war continued for a few more years, Shenio would be one of the wealthiest companies out there. If, that was, they could keep getting access to the prime ore and mineral deposits they needed. Deposits such as found on Gaftikar. And as a means of ensuring first dibs on any planet with these resources, Shenio kept up a steady stream of _donations, _ostensibly labeled as "financial support to the Republic in times of crisis". It had been a profitable partnership. The victory at Gaftikar had come at a negligible cost to the Republic and Shenio had proven quite appreciative of the Republic's support.

_But now the planet is coming at a cost I'm not sure I'm willing to pay, _he thought, carefully folding his hands before his chest. He gazed solicitously at the holographic image of Luddmilla Lucara, but inwardly, he was close to seething. _How many hours of my time has this speck of dirt already cost me, when I should be paying attention to far, far greater matters? _

When he spoke, there was nothing of his inner outrage in his voice. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine did not get angry; he got _concerned. _"My dear Madame Director, I don't believe the situation calls for…" he paused, as if searching for the most diplomatic term, "so extreme a reaction."

He tapped the tips of his fingers together, briefly looking down at his lap, clad in the dark red robes of his office. He looked up again with the suddenness of one who has just now remembered an important fact. "If I remember correctly, the Jedi Order has only recently dispatched one of their own to the planet, in order to investigate these most disturbing events." Though it wasn't, he put just enough of an inflection into the last word, to make his statement sound almost like a question. Palpatine had found this method most helpful in not only getting people to talk and confide in him, but also to help further his image of the aging, but kindly country politician.

The reaction to his words was, he had to admit, most revealing. Lucara's narrow face flushed deeply enough so as to be visible even through the blue tint of the holo and her lips compressed so far, as to be practically invisible.

"What they sent us," she hissed out, "is a Padawan. _A teenaged Padawan girl-child." _

For a moment, Palpatine wondered what exactly Lucara found more offensive: the fact that the Jedi in question was a Padawan, her gender or her general age? He considered using this opportunity to sow more seeds of dissent between the Order and the rest of the Republic, but decided that the situation was not appropriate. As Chancellor Palpatine, he had too often endorsed and defended the Jedi to openly criticize them now. But then, criticism all depended on how one chose to interpret the words.

Palpatine nodded his head sagely. "I will admit that I am surprised that the events on Gaftikar have not garnered at the very least the attention of a Knight. However," and he held up a cautioning finger, "I feel obligated to remind you, Madame Director, that the Order is most busily employed in defending this great Republic and their resources are desperately stretched thin." A regretful smile alighted on his lips. "As are those of us all, I fear."

Lucara thumped her fist on her desk again. "Which is exactly why you need to send us more clone reinforcements and insist on implementing martial law. Do you not see Chancellor that Gaftikar _is _a valuable resource, as is Shenio Mining?" She leaned forward again, her bony elbows propped on her desk. "The Separatists have already annexed the Shenio system," she reminded him. "And with it, they have claimed some of the most kelerium and norax rich planets in the known galaxy. Except for Gaftikar." She narrowed her eyes at him and Palpatine could see a conviction in her face that almost bordered on fanaticism. "Just think, Chancellor, what would happen if the Separatists got their hands on Gaftikar. There would be a severe kelerium and norax shortage and while that may not sound catastrophic to you now, let me assure you it will be in the long run. More and more inhabited systems are drawn into this conflict and rebuilding destroyed cities takes more of a priority as a result. Just think of Kothlis, if you don't believe me."

Palpatine nodded his assent; she was right on that score, at least. After the CIS had attacked the Bothan settlement of Kothlis, repairs to the city had been a top-priority as a means of both appeasing the Bothans and getting the Spynet facilities back online as soon as possible. Huge amounts of processed kelerium and norax ores had been required as a result.

"And might I remind you," Lucara went on, "that it was Shenio who supplied the materials necessary for that operation. And we couldn't have done it if we hadn't been able to tap into the deposits on Gaftikar. Without Gaftikar, Chancellor, orders for building material will backlog and the good citizens of the Republic will be forced to live in temporary shelters or prefab buildings while _we _try and secure the necessary deposits to return the Galactic Republic to its previous state of civilization and modernity. And I don't think your constituents would like that very much, Chancellor."

That, Palpatine thought, was an interesting spin to put on the situation. He had to hand it to the woman, annoying and self-righteous she might be, but she knew how to play her hand and play it well.

Leaning back in his office chair, Palpatine gave Lucara a self-deprecating smile. "I must say, Madame Director, put that way, your logic is very difficult to argue with." He held up a hand to forestall the triumph gathering in her eyes. "However, the fact is that the troops necessary to observe martial law are in desperate need elsewhere. You must therefore contend with the garrison already stationed onplanet."

"But that's…"

He cut off her protests with a benign, but firm tone of voice. "Furthermore, it is not within my power to simply ordain martial law on a Republic world." _Not yet, anyway, _he thought darkly. "Such a measure must first be put before the Senate for a vote, which, I am sure you are aware, can take a while." He took the sting out of his words with another one of his patented false smiles. "Be assured, however, that I will make it clear to the Senate that this is a matter close to my heart and that the democratic process should be observed in due haste, as a measure of saving lives and preserving valuable resources."

His words appeared to have the desired effect, for although still unhappy, Lucara appeared slightly mollified. "Very well, Chancellor," she said. "I will leave the matter in your hands." She inclined her head in the facsimile of a bow and the comm connection was broken.

As soon as the last pixel disintegrated, the smile slipped off of Palpatine's face. _Insufferable female, _he thought, _but she does have a point. _Which did nothing to improve his mood. Perhaps, it was time to make his own inquiries. Pressing a button on the comm console set into his desk, Palpatine contacted his Vice Chancellor, Mas Amedda.

"Yes, Chancellor?" Came the immediate answer.

"Ensure that I am not disturbed for the foreseeable future," he told the Chagrian.

"As you wish, Chancellor," was the reply.

Palpatine pressed the button again, closing the channel and went over to the wardrobe at the back of his office. Reaching inside, he pressed a hidden panel and removed from the depths of the closet a dark cloak. Closing the blinds, shutting out the light and the panoramic view of Coruscant's skylanes, he donned the robe, drawing the hood down so that his face was obscured by shadows. And he was Palpatine no more, but Darth Sidious instead.

He took out a private comlink from the folds of the cloak and, placing it on his desk, activated the secured channel. Count Dooku responded as promptly to his call as Mas Amedda had. _As he should, _Darth Sidious thought.

Dooku bowed before him, a concession to his age, as by all rights, he should be kneeling before his Master. "My lord," he said, "to what do I owe this honor?"

Darth Sidious slashed one aged hand through the air, cutting off any further perfunctory greetings. "I have just been informed, Darth Tyranus, that the situation on Gaftikar is deteriorating."

Dooku frowned from beneath the elegantly patrician cut of his beard. "Gaftikar?" He asked, clearly puzzled. "My lord, I do not understand. What does Gaftikar have to do with anything? Surely the planet is of no more consequence then…"

Once more, Darth Sidious cut the man off. "The planet's consequence is what I determine it to be," he told Dooku.

Dooku, to his credit, took the reprimand in his Master's voice seriously. Bowing his aged head even further than before, Dooku said, "Forgive me, Master. I meant no disrespect. Please tell me how I can serve you in this matter."

Appeased, for the moment, Sidious steepled his fingers before him, lowering his cowled head even further, deepening the shadows that cast his face into obscurity. "It seems that for some time now, a bomber has been terrorizing the citizens of Eyat, the planet's capitol." He paused for effect, before adding, "And it seems that all evidence indicates a Separatist terrorist. You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, would you, Tyranus?" The question was asked in a most pleasant tone of voice, but Sidious could see the ripples of fear it caused in his aging apprentice. The man was old, but age had not degenerated into senility just yet. Dooku knew he was on dangerous ground, should he be caught in a lie.

"I can assure you, my lord," Dooku said with conviction, "none of my agents are currently operating anywhere near the Gaftikar system. I have left that quadrant of the galaxy to the Republic, as per your orders." He hesitated for a moment, obviously carefully weighing the effects his next words might have. "However, this war has caused a certain…patriotic fervor to emerge on both sides. While I can guarantee that the bomber cannot possible be one of my agents, it is possible that he is," another pause, "a martyr for the cause."

Sidious felt the first ripples of unease flow through him. "A Separatist sympathizer, in other words," he said, "who thinks to win back a lost planet."

Dooku nodded slowly, obviously grateful that his explanation had been accepted.

"I see," Sidious said. He hadn't truly thought that the bomber had come from one of Dooku's many contacts. Dooku could be depended on to run his side of the war with a minimum need of supervision, but he knew better than to execute an assault on a Republic system, covert or overt, without running it past Darth Sidious first. But an independent agent was a probable possibility, particularly since the beginning of a new propaganda campaign launched by Dooku, calling for "volunteers for the noble cause of fighting the corruption". There were those who would see this as license to wreak havoc.

Darth Sidious's mouth turned down in dislike of the present situation he found himself in. He did not care what happened to Gaftikar, but he could not allow the current state of affairs to continue. The CIS had a necessary image to uphold and this bomber might give the Republic news agencies necessary ammunition. Like it or not, he had to get involved.

Dooku, who had been patiently standing by during his Master's ruminations, now spoke up. "Is there anything I can do to alleviate the situation, my lord?"

"No, Darth Tyranus, I will take care of this," he grimaced, "nuisance, myself." He waved one hand in a languid dismissal. "You may return to your duties, my apprentice."

Dooku bowed again and his holographic image disappeared from his desk. For a moment, Darth Sidious remained seated, his consciousness embedded deeply within the Force, exploring all the possible avenues the events on Gaftikar might take and how he could turn them to his advantage.

How long he remained seated, immersed within the dark side of the Force, he could not tell, nor did he care. But when he emerged, he knew what he had to do. He would do exactly as Luddmilla Lucara wanted him to do. He would petition the Senate to suspend the civilian government on Gaftikar and declare a state of martial law. And he would subtly involve the Jedi Order in the discussion, further seeding the fertile ground for doubt in the Order's ability to maintain peace and stability within the Republic.

Beneath the concealing shadows of his hood, Darth Sidious began to smile.

* * *

_Onboard the _Mockingbird, _landing pad outside of Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (25 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

_Flames consumed the building even as she struggled to save the nine lives caught within. Trying to get their cooperation…trying to simply make them _listen _to her, Ro's world was reduced to smoke, heat and the encroaching threat of the flames eating themselves towards their position on the seventh floor. _

_There was a groan, like that of a wounded animal in its dying throes, as wood and permacrete began to disintegrate under the steady onslaught of heat. It was so hard to breathe. _

_Ro turned around to stare at the young mother with her child, still slumped where Ro had left them in the middle of the corridor. The house groaned again and with a sudden lurch, the floorboards beneath mother and child gave way with a splintering sound that was almost like exultation. Ro leaped after them, trying to grasp the woman's fingers with her own. She saw the mother's eyes first widen in panic, then in recognition of their impending death; she heard the toddler scream in his mother's arms as they plummeted into the raging inferno below._

_Ro wanted to scream, too. She had failed. She had failed because she was too weak, too slow, too untalented in the ways of the Force. And then the hole in the floor widened like a hungry maw eager for more and she fell…_

_She fell, tumbling head over heels into the flames…into the heat…her skin stretching taunt…She couldn't breathe..._

_And then the nightmare turned into _her _nightmare. She fell through the flames and into a pool of spreading darkness. The darkness was smooth, oily and cold and it dragged her down like quicksand. Ro tried to claw her way out, but there was no firm ground for her to hold onto. She tried to scream and the darkness flooded her mouth, her nostrils. It rose, trying to cover her eyes, to stopper her ears. With one last, desperate effort she tried to gulp in air for her aching lungs, tried to scream…._

Her own screams woke her. Desperately clawing at the air before her, Ro jerked upright with a sudden spasming of her muscles. When she realized what she was doing, she clamped her hands over her mouth, smothering the next scream building up in her throat. She closed her eyes again, trying to get her erratic breathing under control.

_Just a dream, _she thought wretchedly. _It was just a dream and dreams can't hurt you. _Oh but they could; they could cut you to the bone.

There was a soft, uncertain chirp from her bedside. Letting her hands drop to the twisted and sweat soaked sheets of her bed, Ro opened her eyes and looked to the side. Artee stood beside her bed, his one ocular photoreceptor trained steadily on her.

Ro gave him a weak, wobbly little smile. "Hey little guy, finally came down from your tower?" Her voice sounded hoarse and scratchy.

The droid chirped again, this time questioningly.

Ro shook her head. "No Artee, it was just a nightmare. My lungs feel alright."

Actually, that wasn't completely true. Her whole chest felt bruised from the inside and lying on her stomach – her favorite sleeping position – had proven downright painful. Artee, of course, caught on to the lie. Aside from being programmed with the latest medical journals and treatment texts and thereby understanding the trauma her lungs had suffered, he knew her too well to be fooled.

With a series of exasperated whistles and beeps, one of Artee's prehensile claw arms extended from his rotund chassis, carefully gripping a mug of liquid. The sight made Ro smile in earnest. She was so lucky to have such a faithful friend.

Leaning towards the little droid, she took the mug with a quiet, but heartfelt thanks. Brushing her tangled blue and blond hair out of her face, Ro took a tentative sip of the liquid.

It was a syrup made of wild cherry bark, mixed with honey, lemon and rose hips and diluted with water. Ro recognized the recipe as one of the many given to her by Vash Dan, the Togruta hydroponics engineer who oversaw the hydroponic gardens aboard the _Chu'unthor. _Vash, who had a mild Force-sensitivity with plants, had greatly enjoyed devising concoctions for Ro, as substitutes for bacta laced medicines. She had a whole datachip full of his recipes.

Taking another swallow, feeling the liquid roll down her throat and soothe her burning lungs, Ro reached out and stroked Artee's domed head affectionally. "Thanks, Artee," she told him. "That's just what I needed."

Artee gave a series of toots and whirrs that sounded both satisfied and bashful.

"What time is it," she asked around the rim of her mug.

Artee responded promptly, telling her that according to his internal interstellar chrono it was 3:46:07 in the morning hours, Gaftikar time.

Ro sighed. "Wonderful," she muttered and took another disheartened sip. There was no use trying to get back to sleep, she knew. Once, when she had been a youngling at the Temple, she'd managed to find her way back to sleep by climbing into bed with her older brother, Garett. But those times were several years in the past and Garett was lightyears away, fighting a war. Alone, with no one to hold her and keep the terrors of the darkness at bay, sleep would continue to elude her, for now.

"Anyone else awake at the base?" she asked her droid. She cocked her head, listening to the answer. Apparently, at around midnight, several squads of clones had left the base, heading towards Eyat. But so far, none of them had come back. He had though, been keeping an eye, so to speak, on the communications channels used by the base. So far, everything seemed to be under control.

Ro cocked an eyebrow in amusement at the astromech. "I thought those were encrypted channels?"

Artee's telescopic optical lense protruded slightly more from its casing; the droid's equivalent of eyes widening. If she cared to remember, he told her huffily, she was the one who had him slice into their communications network in the first place and so far, she had not retracted that order. If she had wanted him to shut down the connection, then she should have told him earlier.

Ro's grin widened. For all of his melodrama and paranoia, Artee still managed to lift her spirits, more often than not. "You're right Artee, totally my fault." She looked about her cabin for the first time. The light was set to dim, rather than turned completely off. Though nineteen, Ro had never been able to shake her fear of the dark and she couldn't abide sleeping in a dark room. That was a sure invitation for the nightmare. So the lights in her cabin were only ever dimmed and she kept a small nightlight on the little alcove recessed into the wall, slightly above her bed. She'd gone through a number of those over the years; her latest was a phosphorescent crystal from Elom, giving off a serene bluish-green light. Normally, these precautions were enough to keep her nightmare at bay, but it seemed that today's events had caught up with her.

Suddenly, Ro became all too aware of the dried sweat on her skin and the sheets and the reek of fear and nightmares in her cabin. She had to get out, get out _right now._

Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, Ro handed back the mug to Artee and nearly ran out of her cabin in a bid to escape the memory of that heat and those screams. And the dark.

Artee shrilled after her, following as fast as his treads would allow. When she was in the dimly lit corridor, Ro pressed her body against the cool durasteel wall, trying to fill her eyes with the mural she had painted there and only that. The walls of the corridor featured a panoramic view of the Taikaha plains of Dantooine, where she had been born. And painted right across from her cabin door was the short form of a blba tree; its thorny branches raised high to the sky. In the tree's shadow was a small stone marker, its top rounded. This was the memorial erected in memory of her clan, all of whom had perished during the catastrophic mudslides that had claimed many hundreds of lives on Dantooine, a little over eighteen years ago. Ro would have died with them, if it hadn't been for her brother, who had, although only four at the time, erected a Force bubble around the little speeder the two children had been trapped in. And if it hadn't been for Master Windu, who had found the siblings under meters of mud and debris.

Ro couldn't remember anything from that time or before. She'd only been a year old when the mudslides had come, but sitting under that blba tree and talking to her deceased family was one of the calmest memories she had. Which was why she had painted the scene directly across from her cabin; so that, in times such as this, she could lean against the mural and fill her sight with it and let the memory of that sweet-smelling spring day wash over her. She breathed in deeply and her nostrils filled, not with the smell of her ship, but with the smell of fresh, fertile earth and spring grass, fresh water and that wonderful, warm, barky smell that could only come from trees. And just like that, the final vestiges of her nightmare were gone.

Ro pushed herself away from the wall, letting one hand trail over the image of the tree and the marker. "Thank you," she told it quietly. Looking behind her, she could see Artee waiting for her, his ocular piece fixed on her. Though she could sense no emotions from droids, he nevertheless gave the impression of deep worry and curiosity. She smiled at him and made her way through the corridor towards the 'fresher. "I'm 'kay Artee, really. Just had to get a breath of fresh air." The 'fresher door slid open and Ro had to blink furiously at the sudden wash of bright light. "I'm gonna wash up," she told Artee, while beginning to chuck off her sweaty pajamas. Ro loved fuzzy pajamas, but they did tend to soak up sweat and other fluids. She dropped them to the floor, much to Artee's dismay. Ignoring the droid's protests that he was not a butler droid and dropped coverings presented a serious trip threat, Ro called out over her shoulder, "Could you strip the bed for me?"

Artee whistled a reluctant agreement and the 'fresher door slid shut behind him. Ro waited until the spray of water was wonderfully warm, then stepped into the shower. As she went about ridding her body of cold, dried sweat, Ro thought about what she would do now. She still had a few hours before she should go back to the base, so….what?

_Guess I'll look over those reports from Gor'Dan, _she thought. When she'd come back to the _Mockingbird, _almost dead on her feet, Artee had informed her that Gaftikar's Police Commissioner had sent over all the relevant files for the bomber investigation, as well as the requested dead files. Going over those reports should keep her occupied for a while.

Once done, Ro dried off and put on the clothes she'd donned late yesterday. Brushing out her crackling mass of hair, Ro figured she'd get something to eat first, then start on the files. No use working hungry.

When she came to the galley, Artee was already busy setting out a plate and a platter of fruitbread and various jams. Always thinking, her Artee was.

"Artee, you are a treasure," she told him appreciatively. The droid whistled in self-satisfaction.

Then another smell, far less pleasant, came to Ro's sensitive nose. Sniffing the air, her little button of a nose first wriggled, then wrinkled at the smell. It was biting and chemical and Ro had no idea where it was coming from. "Artee, what's that smell?"

The droid halted in the midst of opening the galley's conservator. His domed head spinning towards her, he gave an inquisitive beep. What smell? He didn't smell anything.

"That's because you don't have an olfactory sense," she told him and, sniffing like her mentor Shiv, Ro followed the stink to a cabinet beneath the sink. Opening it and peering inside, Ro saw the cleaning supplies she kept there. Bottles of various industrial cleaners for the galley and 'fresher, as well as for computer consoles and engine parts. There were stacks of canisters of wax for all purposes and a bundle of rags. The smell was coming from the rags. Rifling through them, Ro came up with a handful of rags that she recognized as the clothes she'd worn earlier the day before. The clothes that had been ruined by the fire.

"Artee, what are these doing here?"

The astromech trundled over, peering at the rags, then giving his explanation in a series of quick, anxious beeps, toots, chirps and whistles. She had left the clothes on the floor of the 'fresher after coming back from the fire. He had picked them up, thinking that she wanted him to run them through the washer, but closer analysis of the damage had resulted in the conclusion that the material was too contaminated with outside pollutants for a regular industrial washer to clean. So he had cut up the clothes, saving the cleanest parts for the rag bin and putting the rest in the recycler. He had, Artee added fretfully, saved all of the beads that had decorated her pants. Was he in trouble?

"Artee, no," she hastened to reassure him. "You're not in trouble at all, I was just wondering…" she frowned in thought. "What do you mean by 'outside pollutants'?"

A particle analysis of the clothes had resulted in the detection of tiny trace amounts within the cloth, mostly SiO2, (CaO)2. SiO2, (CaO)3. AI2O3, (CaO)4. AI2O3….

Ro held up a hand. "'Kay, I get it, mostly permacrete dust from the building."

Artee whistled. And calcium carbonate, iron oxide, manganese, zinc, copper and detonite.

"Wait, hold up." She held the rags that had been her clothes up to the droid. "You can detect trace elements of detonite on these?"

Artee beeped an affirmative, but told her that the residual particles were very few and barely detectable. He'd only identified them, because his microanalysis filters had been programmed to detect possible sabotage of engines.

"'Kay, fair enough," she said slowly. Sitting back on the galley floor, Ro ran a hand through her still static charged hair. There was something nagging at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. "'Kay, 'kay," she repeated, drumming her hands on the durasteel floor in a quick, impatient tattoo. "Detonite is what we found at all the bombsites," she told herself and Artee. "And the rest of the stuff is all part of the building material. Makes sense that it's on my clothes. I detected traces of detonite at all three sites, so some of the particles probably settled on my clothes when I walked through the debris." She frowned in thought. "And the building I ran into practically collapsed on my head, but if that was a detonite bomb, then I'll eat my diploma."

Artee gave a slightly alarmed whistle at this. Eating processed wood pulp could have a detrimental effect on the digestive system and could cause one, if not more, severe side effects, such as nausea, stomach acid, heart burn…

Ro ignored Artee's fretting, idly running the pieces of cloth between her fingers. This was not the first time Ro had dealt with bombers, but there were elements of this case that did not add up and the smell coming from what was left of her clothes was one of them. Detonite didn't smell like that. It didn't smell much at all, actually. It was simply a highly compressed chemical powder, often used for demolitions and mining and, since the war, in grenades and other charges. But her clothes stank of something and it was more than simply fire and ash.

And then it struck her. Slapping the palm of her hand against her forehead, Ro said in exasperation, "Duh, Ro; chemical smell, incendiary bomb. Whatever is making the clothes stink might be what made the water-resistant flames." She stretched the rags out to Artee. "Artee, can you analyze these again, see if you can pick up any trace elements of what might act as an incendiary?"

R3 twisted his domed head from side to side, his 'thinking' posture. Then he gave a doubtful toot. His sensors weren't equipped for extracting and analyzing unknown compounds, particularly in very small doses. His knowledge of chemicals was limited to engine fuels and possible biohazards.

Ro shook her head. "You're right, Artee. I should have thought of that." She cocked her head to the side, thinking. If not Artee, then maybe someone at the base? Or the police? They had a forensics lab. No, with all due respect to the clones and the police, if the trace amounts were so small that Artee couldn't even get a preliminary id on them, then she wanted an expert with access to the best facilities to have what was, so far, the best clue she had.

Snapping her fingers in a moment of inspiration, Ro jumped to her feet. "I got it," she told her droid excitedly and dashed towards the ladder at the end of the galley. Climbing quickly, Ro scrambled through the hatch and into the cockpit, sliding smoothly into the pilot's chair.

She was already activating the ship's long-range comm when Artee floated through the hatch on his repulsors. "Artee," she told the droid, "patch me through to the forensics department at the Aldera University." Thank the Force for differing planetary rotations. Though it was early morning on Gaftikar, Ro figured it was already afternoon on Alderaan.

Artee did as she asked and in no time at all, the holotransmitter lit up with the holographic image of Ro's former forensic professor, Dr. Forim Kresim. The green-skinned Duros peered into the transmitter, his red eyes squinting nearsightedly.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly with age. "Who is this?"

"Dr. Kresim, it's me, Ro."

The red eyes narrowed even further. A lifetime of squinting through microscopes and staring at holoscreens in bad lighting had left the forensic specialist almost blind, but vanity kept him from admitting the fact. So when his eyes widened in recognition and pleasure, Ro knew it was because Dr. Kresim had identified her voice, rather than her image.

"Ah, yes, Ro. What a pleasure. How are you?" His lipless mouth pulled into a friendly smile, revealing long, needlelike teeth.

"I'm great, doctor; well, more or less. I have a bit of a problem. I have a sample of a chemical compound that I simply can't identify and the amounts I have are literally microscopic, so I don't really want to trust an average lab for the analysis."

"Ah, I see," he said. Kresim tapped the tips of his long fingers against each other, pleasantly staring at a point just over Ro's shoulder. "So you bring me a puzzle. How delightful. What are the details?"

"I think the chemical in question was used in the construction of an incendiary bomb. Whatever it is, it burns hot and strong, but simply dousing it in water doesn't make it impotent. Oxygen deprivation has to be absolute, or the stuff simply reignites, even on a wet surface."

"Hmmm," the tapping of the fingers increased. "But I'm assuming that your samples aren't bursting into flames as we speak?"

"No. But then, I don't think I've got more than the barest microscopic dusting. See," and she scratched her head in embarrassment, "I must have picked up some trace of the stuff when I was in the building."

The lipless mouth twitched upwards to one side. "And am I correct in assuming that said building was burning at the time when you were inside of it?"

"Yee-aah," she admitted sheepishly.

"Good to clarify that point." Dr. Kresim looked off to one side, his red eyes staring sightlessly in distraction at something to the left of the holotransmitter. "Well, I can't think of a chemical that has such a unique characteristic, but I'm sure that, once I've analyzed the sample, I can find it in the university's database. Will you be bringing it over?" He asked her amiably.

"Ah, doctor," Ro said hesitantly. "I'm calling you long distance, remember? I mean, really long distance. I'm in the Outer Rim."

The Duros's expression fell for a moment, before he shook his smooth head in disapproval. "My dear girl, I will never understand your desideratum for travel, when all the knowledge you could possibly want is right here, on Alderaan."

Ro grinned back at the flickering image of her former professor. "And I don't think your species understands your aversion to space travel. You must be the only Duros in the galaxy who doesn't feel the call of hyperspace in his bones."

The smooth line of skin above the mouth, where another humanoid would have a nose, wrinkled slightly in distaste. No doubt, Ro thought, that was a gesture Kresim had picked up from his Human colleagues.

"My mind," he told her with some dignity, "is perfectly occupied right here, without needing the distraction of hyperspace algorithms."

"Got it, Dr. Kresim. So, is it alright if I run the samples through the scanner and send the results via hyperspace transmission."

The Duros waved one green hand in acceptance. "Yes, yes, if you must. Though I would like to analyze the actual sample as well. Please send that also via courier."

"I'll do what I can," she said, not at all sure how she might manage that. Dr. Kresim often forgot that not all of the galaxy was as conveniently equipped as Alderaan. But maybe Gaff could help. He had a good head on his shoulders and Ro was certain he could organize something for her. There didn't seem to be anything Gaff couldn't organize.

After another few minutes of discussion, Dr. Kresim signed off, promising to analyze her sample as soon as he received it. Ro let Artee run the pieces of her clothing through the _Mockingbird's _scanner, even making him retrieve the pieces he had thrown into the recycler. There was no such thing as too much Intel, as far as Ro was concerned.

As the scanner catalogued the samples, Ro leaned back in the pilot's chair, running a hand through her hair. Glancing out of the viewport, she saw dawn beginning to creep over the horizon. Another day: another chance to stop this murdering sleemo.

The analysis of the trace compounds was out of her hands now. She might as well get something to eat and start on those reports. Afterwards, she was going to grab Wren and Gaff and whoever else might prove helpful and try to pick up the bomber's trail. She could only hope that, now that he had broken from his pattern, he would not attack again today. It would be good to have at least one day where nothing happened.

* * *

**Author's Note: **For some reason, ff kept erasing my chemical formulas, so for those chemists out there, I apologize if this isn't quite up to parr. This is the closest I got to accurately describing the chemical ingredients for concrete.


	16. Chapter 15: Indulgence

**Author's Note: **This is my way of apologizing for the figurative note on the fridge about the change in updates: an extra long chapter and a shout out to all those wonderful people who've left wonderful reviews and have brightened my days. So, this one is for **laloga, spikala, Eregnar, Windphoenix, Maru-san, Canadiancloneluver and kiyohunter. **You are the best.

* * *

**Indulgence**

"_Those violent delights have violent ends." _

_- William Shakespeare _

* * *

This time, there was no Rational to divert his attention. Eyes firmly fixed on the screens before him, he watched the recordings again and again on a continuous, endless loop, while his fingers danced across components and parts. He did not know how much time passed. It could have been hours. It could have been days. It didn't matter. His body was freed of all natural functions and cravings as long as his attention never strayed from the screens.

He watched people scream. He watched them run from the flames, some of them alight, like walking torches. The fire burned hot and strong and the power of his present proved too much to be satisfied with just one measly residential building. It spread. First the building on the left, then the one on the right.

And more people screamed and even as they fled the might of the fire, more gathered to watch. There was awe in their faces. Awe was good. His presents deserved awe.

A shiver of delight worked itself through his body, shaking his limbs. His tongue darted out to run across his lips. It was almost as good as being back there again. Almost.

He watched as, on some of the screens, white armored clone troopers and firefighters rushed onto the scene. They tried to rescue some of the people and to his displeasure, they did. But those wrinkles in events were soothed by the knowledge that, no matter what, the people who had been touched by his present would remain scarred forever. Human or Marit, it didn't matter. Even if bacta could erase the physical scars, always the mind would remember….an immortal fire had touched them….always.

He licked his lips, not in thirst, but in remembrance. He had been there. For a brief, glorious moment, he had been there and watched the present he had given the people envelope a small part of this world. Nothing compared to the wonderment of that moment. Nothing…not even the other, the lesser present The Rational had directed him to leave at the storage yards. That task had been…necessary. This…

His eyes flicked from screen to screen, restless and unwilling to miss a single image, though he knew the footage by heart now. His eyes were starting to tear from the constant strain of staring at the screens, with tiny capillaries bursting, tinting the sclera a menacing red. He didn't care. It had been fulfillment. He had felt _fulfilled, _the burning hunger within him satisfied.

He suddenly turned away from the screens, gazing blankly into the darkness around him. Something had just occurred to him. The voice of The Rational was absent. It had been silent for a while now. How long, he couldn't tell; just like he couldn't tell how long he'd been watching the screens. Keeping track of such things was The Rational's job.

He recognized the silence within his own mind for what it was. Not abandonment - The Rational would not, could not, abandon him - but rather, it was the silence of intense, mental activity. The Rational was thinking. It was still contemplating the puzzle it had perceived at the unveiling of his present, that flash of color; the girl who had braved the flames and had come out alive.

He shook his head. He did not like thinking about her. It was...disconcerting. Upsetting. No one should master the fire but he; its creator.

His eyes were drawn back to the screens as the endless cycle of recordings began anew. Avidly, he stared into the flames dancing across the screens and licked his lips. His fingers continued to assemble and fiddle, without his knowing.

* * *

_Troop barracks, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim (25 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Sleep in the Grand Army of the Republic was a luxury any clone soon began to crave. It was one of the first lessons the battlefield could teach you, but it was a lesson that was multifaceted.

First off, a soldier needed to learn to sleep whenever and wherever he could. When in battle, you didn't have the luxury to crawl back into your comfortable bunk. But being caught asleep when the fighting started could also get you killed, so the good soldier learned to sleep while keeping an ear alert for any unusual sounds. Real, deep, undisturbed sleep almost never happened when out in the field.

That lesson had been ingrained into Wren earlier and more thoroughly than in most. Back on Kamino, the ARCs - along with every other clone - had gone through sleep-deprivation exercises, where they'd slogged through six day simulations on maybe an hour of sleep. The thing was that once those simulations were done, the trooper would be able to slink back to his sleep bunker and fall unconscious for the next twenty-four hours. It had been different for Wren.

He had not been popular with the rest of the clones. Well, that was an understatement, actually. Most of them had hated him and the feeling had been more than mutual. But the general animosity between him and the other clones - whether ARCs or regular grunts - had had one rather consequential result. Both groups had developed a desire to settle scores outside of the regulated parameters of one-on-one matches, which were monitored by the training sergeants. Which meant that, if retaliation for some slight or dirty trick was to come, it came after lights out. As a cadet, Wren had learned to sleep with one eye open, after being surprised one too many times in his sleep bunker by the other ARCs. No matter how exhausted he was at the end of a long day of training, by the time he was deployed for the first time, his sleep was as light as a Ghostling.

It was a skill that had come in useful on Jabiim, where the locals were expert guerrilla fighters and had a penchant for sneaking up on troopers, too exhausted by the constant fighting to remain on their feet. And over the past seventeen months of his active duty, skill had become habit. Wren no longer slept either deeply or for long. His rest periods were divided into fifteen to twenty minute catnaps and his consciousness never seemed to fall into that state of truly deep, unresponsive sleep.

That was why, when something light brushed against the tip of his nose, his mind sprung to full wakefulness immediately. And when the sensation came again – light, soft, provoking his nasal passages – his arm shot out without a warning, strong fingers enclosing the object and the hand that held it. He pulled the hand towards him, rolling himself off of his bunk in the same movement. His other arm went around the person's waist and Wren let gravity take over. He fell out of the bunk, the other person pinned firmly beneath him. There wasn't much of a distance between the mattress of his bunk and the ground, but he was a fully-grown man, his body genetically altered for slightly denser bones and heavier musculature, and there was an audible "ooomph" as the air was pushed out of the lungs of the person trapped beneath him.

Snarling, he raised his torso enough to see his would-be assailant…and stared into startled, teal colored eyes framed by tangled blond bangs.

Ro's eyes flicked down along his body pressed against hers, then met his furious gaze again.

"You know," she said in a half-whisper, voice casual though a little breathless, "we are getting dangerously close to developing a habit here, cookie. I gotta tell ya, if we keep doing this, I'm gonna have to introduce you to my family." She cocked her head at him and grinned. "And you're crumbling my cookies."

"What the effing hell do you…"

"Shhh." She cut him off, lips pursing in disapproval before she twisted her head to the side, eyes going to the rows of bunks opposite his. Wren followed her gaze just in time to see Mekk, who occupied the top bunk across from his, roll over onto his side with a noise that was half grunt, half snore. There was a bit of drool gathering at the corner of his mouth.

How very attractive. And the shinies always wondered why they couldn't entice any of the local _cheekas_.

_Why am I thinking about this? _he suddenly wondered. He focused again on the absolutely frakkingly aggravating Jedi still pinned beneath him.

"You care about how they sleep, but me you try to ambush?" he hissed at her, not even aware that, despite himself, he had lowered his voice.

"You're needed in the MTCC," she whispered back. "And I didn't ambush you, I woke you." She tried to wriggle out from beneath him, but Wren simply put more of his weight on her. No way was he going to let her get away that easily.

In response, Ro narrowed her eyes at him. "You could at least buy me dinner first," she said, a definite haughty tone in her voice now.

He pulled his lips back in a facsimile of a smile. "Sorry _cheeka_, don't have the creds or the interest."

The narrowed eyes disappeared and instead, a slow and very sweet smile spread across her lips. Wren felt his muscles tense in response. He hadn't known her for that long, but that look of harmless innocence was setting off all kinds of alarm bells in his head. Ro, he knew, was neither harmless or innocent.

"Wren," she said, her voice as syrupy as Alderaanian honey, "you're still crumbling my cookies."

He moved just in time. Feeling the shifting of muscles, Wren rolled to the side, just avoiding the knee that would have solidly connected with his groin. Springing to his feet in one smooth movement, he found Ro now sitting upright on the floor, both hands clasped over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her giggles. _That fekless little…_He had to hand it to her, she had stones.

Wren straightened from his fighter's crouch, arms crossed over his bare chest. "This is me, not being amused," he told her.

Eyes still twinkling with suppressed laughter, Ro said, "This is me being utterly inappropriate," and her eyes raked down his body as freely as if he were a piece of prime nerf at the butcher's, in a pretty good imitation of the once-over he'd given her yesterday.

Wren lifted an eyebrow at her audacity, wondering if this was some kind of payback on her part for breaking into her ship and catching her in nothing but a towel. His reaction to her ogling of him just seemed to delight her even more. Fighting laughter, Ro's face was flushed in her endeavor to keep quiet and she was practically rolling on the floor in quiet paroxysms of laughter.

Wren sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn't quite sure what to feel right now, though he was pretty sure annoyance was heading in the right direction and it didn't have anything to do with her eyeing him like he was a piece of meat. Hell, he'd looked at women like that more than once and he'd always figured that if he was allowed to do that, then so were the _cheekas. _Besides, a thorough once-over had led him to more than a few fun-filled hours with women far more attractive than Ro.

No, he was honest enough to admit that part of his growing irritation was that never had he had a woman laugh at him while he stood before her in nothing but his underwear. At this point, the _cheekas _were usually expressing their appreciation.

He glared at the still silently laughing Jedi, then glanced at the wall chrono.

Then there was the fact that it was 0703 in the bloody morning.

It was too karking early for this. Despite the previous day's events, Gaff had insisted Wren follow through on his new responsibilities and lead the night patrol. The shift had been uneventful, but it meant he'd only gotten back to the barracks a mere hour ago. And now he was dealing with an unnaturally cheerful Jedi, who, it seemed, was also a morning person and surprisingly perverted to boot. And he hadn't even had his caf yet. _Lovely. Just karking lovely._

There was movement beside him and he looked up – or rather, down – to see that Ro had come to stand next to him. She was nibbling on something that looked suspiciously like a cookie, a package of them in her other hand. The package definitely appeared a little worse for wear.

"You know," she half-whispered to him around a mouthful of cookie, "not that I'm not enjoying the little peepshow, but we really should get to skedaddling. When Master Yoda makes a comm call, you don't exactly keep him on hold till the suubatars come home."

Wren ground the heels of his palms into his temples, trying to parse that particular piece of Intel. "Wait. General Yoda called us?"

An emphatic nod and another crunch of cookie was his answer. Okay, he was starting to get a handle on the situation. "And that's why you came to wake me? To take me to the MTCC for a comm call from General Yoda?"

He didn't even get a nod this time, just the amused glitter of teal eyes gazing up at him from above a half-eaten cookie.

"And you need me for this, why?" he wondered, then added in a more aggravated - and louder - tone of voice, "And would you stop with the effing cookie."

She shushed him again, but the damage was already done. Mekk rolled towards them, bleary eyes opening to see where the source of the noise was coming from. Drowsily, he wiped the drool off of his face, then blinked down at them like a ruffled owl. For a moment, all three just stared at each other, then Mekk gave a surprised yelp as his sleep-addled mind finally caught up to the fact that there was a female in the barracks.

"Commander!" He exclaimed in surprise. What followed next was, for Wren, the highlight of his day.

Mekk, realizing he was in the presence of a superior officer, attempted to both stand at attention and salute at the same time. Considering he was confined in the top most bunk, that didn't work out as well as the trooper had probably hoped. Mekk cracked his skull a good one as he collided with the barrack's low ceiling. Throwing himself backwards in an attempt to overcorrect, his balance was finally completely shot. The trooper tumbled out of his bunk, landing face first on the durasteel floor with a dull _smack. _

Ro's eyes went wide with concern and she dropped her package of cookies as well as the one she'd been eating. "Oh my gosh!" She rushed over to Mekk's side, lightly touching the fallen trooper's shoulder. "Are you alright?" Concerned eyes turned towards Wren. "Is he alright?"

Wren wasn't answering. He was far too busy now trying to suppress his own fit of laughter. Practically doubled over in mirth, he did not see the package of cookies thrown at his head, though he heard Ro's angrily muttered, "Jerk." The package burst open when it collided with his skull, showering him and the space around him with crumbs.

By this time, the rest of Wren's night patrol had woken up, all of whom were staring at the scene in varying stages of incredulity and amazement. Wren swiped at his face and close-cropped hair, dislodging a small torrent of falling cookie crumbs.

"What's the matter, boys?" he asked the slack-jawed troopers. "Never had a woman in your barracks before?"

Ezec, who occupied the bunk under Mekk's and who was more dour than the rest, glanced from the fuming Ro, to the embarrassed Mekk, to the unusually jovial sergeant and asked the room at large, "Is she even allowed to be in here?"

Everyone turned to stare at Ezec. The trooper shrugged. "Just asking."

Now that the issue had been brought up, most of the other clones in the barracks became aware of the fact that they were, more or less, out of uniform in front of a female officer.

Mekk, who had by now gotten to his feet, blushed a deep crimson, hastily crossing his arms over his bare chest, shifting uncomfortably from side to side. Like Wren, he was only wearing his underwear and he wasn't the only one.

Ro's gaze swept the barracks filled with either embarrassed or dumbfounded troopers, her lips twitching in an obvious attempt to fight down a smile. "'Kay then," she said to no one in particular, "guess that's my cue to exit, stage right." She walked towards the barracks' door, pausing as she came up alongside Wren. Jabbing one finger into his bare chest, she said, "Don't keep a lady waiting, Sergeant."

Wren raised a sardonic eyebrow, hands falling suggestively to his hips, to rest on top of his briefs. "No need to leave on my account," he purred at her. "Stick around and get a view of the whole picture, _cheeka_." He gave her the smirk that most females seemed to find irresistible.

Ro gazed at him for a moment, blank-faced, then burst out laughing. "Oh, aren't we the optimist. Trust me, cookie, you don't have _anything_ I haven't seen before." And she sauntered past him, hips swinging saucily, still cackling like a magpie with a treasure trove.

Wren gazed after her, eyebrow still raised. _I think my ego just got a knee to the groin, _he thought. He turned to find the collective eyes of the other clones on him. "Something on your minds, shinies?" He asked, letting a dangerous edge bleed back into his voice.

It had the desired effect. As one, whether still in their bunks or not, the troopers of the night patrol straightened and in unison called, "Sir, no, sir!"

Wren waved at them dismissively, already having lost interest in them. "Then as you were," he told them and made his way to the 'fresher. Apparently, he was wanted in the MTCC for a collect call from General Yoda. Somehow, he didn't think it would be good news.

* * *

He was hungry again.

His eyes moved restlessly across the collective screens, but he found no satisfaction there. Not anymore. The high he'd been riding had worn off, as it always did and the hunger had returned full-force.

And the voice of The Rational was still silent.

A slow smile forced the edges of his lips and his tongue darted out; wetting, tasting.

It was so rare that this happened. The Rational was too preoccupied to censor him, to caution him in his movements. He was free to act. Free to indulge in his ever growing, insatiable hunger.

For now, with The Rational occupied with its puzzle, he could feed until he burst from his gluttony.

He was not completely lacking in rational thought, even without the help of The Rational. He knew that, if he were to give in to his bloodlust now, it would mean having to leave this planet sooner than planned.

His gaze was invariable drawn back to the screens, just as the floating news cam caught the image of an elderly Human male being carried away on a stretcher, his body riddled with burns. Touched by the fire. The man would die; he knew that. And he was hungry for more.

He decided that it didn't matter if he had to leave the planet. The sooner the better. Once he was done here, he could start somewhere else. There was always work in the galaxy, if one knew where to look. And there were always more beings, on which he could deliver his presents. The galaxy was just filled to teeming with opportunities to satisfy his hunger.

His eyes drifted to the present, which he could not remember having assembled. He licked his lips and gave in to the hunger.

* * *

_The Military Tactical Communications Center, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (25 days after the first bombing & 17months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Gaff practically pounced on her as soon as she walked into the MTCC.

"What happened?" he asked, looking her up and down, his expression bordering on the horrified.

Ro, a little taken aback by the sudden attention, glanced down at herself. She'd been in the process of redoing her hair, strands of which had tangled themselves into knots after her impromptu wrestling match with Wren. Looking more closely at her clothes, she realized her hair wasn't the only thing in need of straightening.

Her electric blue shirt had somehow managed to twist itself to one side, while the black tank top beneath had ridden up, exposing a thin line of bare skin along her stomach. Her utility belt too sat crookedly on her hips. She was also coated in a very fine layer of cookie crumbs. _I must look like someone tried to wrestle me right out of my clothes, _she realized. _Who knew that getting tackled by an eighty-something kilo clone could get so…physical. _

"I learned an important lesson," she announced to Gaff.

"Which would be?" he asked uncertainly.

Ro opened one hand and displayed a small, white feather. "Apparently smart cookies don't like to be tickled awake." She blew on the feather she had used to wake Wren and watched it twirl up into the air, only to gently seesaw its way back to earth.

Gaff was looking to and fro between her and the feather, clearly not understanding what it was she was talking about. "Is...Sergeant Wren coming?" he asked doubtfully.

Ro had been onboard the _Mockingbird, _still studying the reports, when the base's communications officer, Teller, had informed her that there was an urgent transmission waiting for her at the MTCC. Apparently, Master Yoda and Master Windu wanted an update ASAP. Ro had promised to hurry over as soon as possible, but had insisted on including Wren in the discussion. The cynical sergeant might not like it, but he had a valid contribution to make and Ro was going to make sure he made it, whether he wanted to or not.

Considering how her summoning plan had worked out, Ro thought that maybe she should have taken Gaff up on the offer to send a trooper to fetch Wren. _But somehow I don't think that would have panned out without bloodshed, _she thought wryly. Besides, this way, she'd gotten the opportunity to pay him back for breaking into the _Mockingbird. _Fair was fair, after all, though she hadn't planned on waking the entire barracks in the process.

Then again, she'd also not planned on having her plans for that day suspended by an unplanned transmission from the Order. Maybe just for today, she should ban the word "plan" and all its connotations from her vocabulary. It was already jinxed to all nine Corellian hells anyway.

"He's coming," Ro told Gaff and set about righting her appearance as she walked further into the MTCC. "Do you still have Master Yoda on hold?" she wondered.

"No," Gaff said emphatically. "Lieutenant Wess is giving both of the High Generals a status update on the victims of the residential bombing and a breakdown on the physical damage these bombs are causing."

"I see," Ro said, slightly more subdued now that the conversation was moving back to the bombings. "What is the final casualty count?" she asked with some trepidation.

"Since this morning, eleven dead, five still in critical condition and seventeen severely injured. None of them," he added quickly, "the nine that you saved."

She smiled at his quick additional comment. He was quite adroit in reading her. "The nine _we _helped save," she corrected gently. "You and your men nearly got cooked yourselves, by holding that net." _And I still haven't really thanked them for it, yet, _she thought ruefully.

Gaff gave her a respectful nod and she felt his pleasure at her acknowledgement, though he shrugged the implied praise off with a diffident, "We were only doing our duty."

"Really?" she wondered, but didn't push the point. Now was simply not the time to get into an argument about what constituted heroism, particularly because she didn't think she would get an actual argument out of Gaff. He appeared to have accepted the fact that she was not a commander, but she could still feel him struggling with some inert need to treat her as a superior. It was a little sad, this realization. She generally liked Gaff and would have liked getting to know him a bit better, as equals. But she sensed that, as long as he still privately thought of her as 'Commander Arhen', he would always try and maintain a professional distance between them. It reminded her of something Shiv had once told her about life in the military.

"_Friendships created under fire are some of the strongest there are, but they rarely cross the rank restriction. Friendships between grunts and officers create a familiarity that might prove detrimental. The grunt might get it into his head that he can ask favors of his officer, or he might forget the respect that is due a superior rank. In turn, the officer might be tempted to dole out preferential treatment to his friend and that'll rub all the other grunts the wrong way. Certain distances have to be kept for the system to keep working." _

Ro could recognize the sense of this, but it didn't mean she had to like it. _Probably why I would make a lousy soldier, _she thought with a twitch of the lips. _I prefer having friends. _

She wriggled her fingers at Gaff, indicating he should follow her to the holotransmitter in one corner of the MTCC. Unlike the one in the communications centre, this holotransmitter was equipped with the latest security channels, encryption nodes and pyrowalls. Ro figured that, if the two most highly ranked Jedi of the Order had chosen to contact them through the secured MTCC channel, then whatever this call was about, it wasn't just a simple status request. Something was up that the Council didn't want anyone else to find out and Ro didn't like it. Keeping secrets usually ended badly and she should know. Part of her job as a Jedi investigator included going deep undercover, keeping her identity a secret and that never ended well for the rat she was pursuing.

Coming to stand just outside of the holotransmitter's range, Ro listened attentively as Lieutenant Wess brought his report to a close.

"…everest damage appears to be to the lungs and other airways. We can't analyze what was in the smoke, but it was responsible for the most injuries during the attack."

Listening, Ro began rubbing her chest. Yeah, that smoke had been a killer. Even now she could taste the chemical acridity of it on her tongue. Feeling Gaff's concerned eyes on her, she quickly gave the commander a reassuring smile, occupying her hand with fiddling with her holo-locket instead.

Masters Yoda and Mace Windu were paying just as careful attention to the medic as she was. Windu, Ro noticed, nodded his head every now and again in understanding at the grim details. He looked drawn, Ro thought, the lines around his mouth and eyes far more pronounced than she remembered from her days at the Temple. Master Yoda too appeared weary, though it was harder to detect in his already wrinkled face. But his normally kind eyes were half-lidded in thought, his head bowed gravely as he listened. _Bet if some of the senators could see this, they wouldn't jabber about cold, unfeeling Jedi, _Ro thought. She had never really understood those accusations; the Jedi felt _so much. _But most sentients never really bothered to look past the mask of aloof power and control.

When Wess had finished, there was a moment of silence before Master Yoda made a deep, thoughtful noise at the back of his throat. "Hmmm, grave this news is. Much injury there has been. And no explanation there seems to be." His eyes opened fully then and his holographic gaze appeared to sweep the entirety of the MTCC until they fixed unerringly on Ro, still standing deferentially to one side.

"Or is there, Padawan?"

Ro had spent all of her life in the presence of powerful Jedi, but Master Yoda's Force skills never ceased to amaze her. _Could he really sense me, _she wondered now, _despite the distance and the fact that I'm outside of the transmitter's range?_

Stepping next to Wess with Gaff on her other side, Ro bowed respectfully to both Master Yoda and Master Windu, aware of the _awe _and sense of _bafflement _that permeated the MTCC. Apparently the clones on duty were also wondering how the ancient Jedi Master had known of her presence.

"Master Yoda, Master Windu, it is good to see you again," she said politely, deliberately curbing her more exuberant responses. She wasn't talking to Master Altis or Eda and Shiv. She knew very well that these two Jedi would not appreciate her squealing in delight at the sight of them.

Master Windu accorded her a curt nod. "Padawan Arhen, what progress have you to report?"

Ro suppressed a sigh. While she could appreciate the urgency and danger of the situation they were in, she could wish that Windu would practice himself a bit more in civility. Was a simple, "hello", too much to ask? _Is there no one in this galaxy who is a morning person? _

"We are dealing with a highly complex individual," Ro told them, her eyes flicking to one side as the doors to the MTCC swished open and Wren walked in. Speak of the devil and he shall swagger through the door.

"Complex?" Windu frowned over the word, one finger impatiently tapping the back of his other hand. "This bomber is a terrorist. Terrorists, Padawan, are not motivated by complex motives."

_Shows what you know, _she thought grumpily, but bit back the comment, settling for the diplomatic answer. This was the first time in years that the Jedi Council had asked the Altisians for help and she didn't want to ruin this by giving a hasty or disrespectful answer. She knew better than most Altisians just how touchy Masters Yoda and Windu could be about certain things.

"I respectfully disagree," she told the Korun Jedi, keeping eye contact even as Windu's infamous brows lowered like thunderclouds. "Terrorists are seldom simpleminded or motivated. However, I don't believe that we are dealing with a terrorist. None of what I have seen so far indicates the kind of agenda a terrorist would pursue and while the local Human supremacist movement has the potential to evolve into a terrorist organization, they have not yet crossed that threshold. Intimidation and brute violence is more their style. If nothing on Gaftikar changes in the near future, I estimate another year before they become a terrorist group capable of that level of violence."

She could feel Gaff start a little at her analysis of the GFH, his surprise quickly followed by a deep sense of _worry. _Ro was sure that he was already going through the possible scenarios of what might happen when the GFH became a terrorist cell. Personally, Ro wasn't too worried about them at the moment. With so unstable and uncharismatic a leader as Kezner, she highly doubted that the GFH would have that much of a shelf life. Successful terrorist organizations needed more than a grudge and fanaticism to keep them going.

Windu was still glowering at her for having corrected him, obviously not satisfied at all with her assessment. Gaff took another step forwards, drawing the Jedi Masters' attention, like a man drawing fire from a wounded comrade.

"Sirs, there's also evidence of a level of competency and care taken with the bombs not usually associated with terrorists," he told them, his tone respectful, but his gaze steady. "My EOD team has gone over all of the sites, but have not found enough fragments of the bombs to reconstruct the explosive device. From my readings, I know that terrorists do not usually go to such lengths to hide their trail."

Ro stared at him, amazed and utterly delighted. She'd had no idea that the commander was doing his own research into the matter and whatever knowledge he had gleaned, he was using it beautifully. Her professors couldn't have put it better.

She saw Wren shoot Gaff a contemptuous look from behind. Clearly the sergeant thought Gaff was showing off. But Gaff's respectful tone and clear statement seemed to appease Master Windu. The Jedi Master looked away for a moment, at something outside of the transmitter's range, clearly preoccupied with his thoughts. Master Yoda shot him a meaningful look and took over the line of questioning.

"If a terrorist not, then who do you think responsible to be?" The ancient Jedi asked, directing his question at her, rather than Gaff.

Ro shook her head. "I have conjectures, but so far, that's it. My initial assessment is that this is a serial bomber, but there are discrepancies in the pattern. This mook," she said, momentarily forgetting whom she was talking to, "is jigging to the left when he should be jazzing to the right. For all I know, he just might be a regular bongo as the commander first suggested."

Ro became aware of a number of eyes on her as a silence spread through the MTCC. Then there was a snort of amusement that could have only come from Wren and she felt a dash of heat come to her cheeks as she realized she'd just slipped into regular street slang.

Peering bashfully through her bangs at the holographic images of the two Jedi Masters, Ro saw much to her relief a smile forming on Master Yoda's lips, the tips of his long ears twitching up and down.

"Repeat that perhaps, you could, Padawan?"

Ro coughed delicately, trying to cover up her embarrassment. "Eh, yeah. What I meant to say was that the ra-the bomber only presents himself on the surface as a serial bomber. On closer inspection, most of the expected patterns of a serial bomber are missing. That is why, at this point, I do not want to rule out the possibility that we are dealing with a Separatist saboteur. I simply have too little Intel on this bomber's progressional pattern to form a clear profile."

_Wow, _Ro thought, _saying it smart-like takes a lot longer than in regular talk. _

"Then what can you tell us, Padawan?" Master Windu asked, his tone caustic, his eyes hard as he stared at her.

Ro narrowed her own eyes a little. She didn't like being talked down to, even by a member of the High Council.

"I can tell you, Master Windu," she said, a little too patiently, "that this is a very intelligent individual who displays both signs of an organized and unorganized personality type. I'm sure," and she cocked a pale eyebrow at the Korun, "that you are aware as to how unusual that is."

Another silence settled over the room, this one far more uncomfortable. Gaff's brown eyes were nervously shuttling from her to the holo of the two Jedi and Wess looked like he was getting ready to break out the triage kit. The other men in the MTCC were studiously gazing down at their consoles, attempting to become invisible. The only one who appeared to be enjoying himself was Wren. Ro had never sensed so many positive emotions coming off of the sergeant.

Mace Windu began to open his mouth, no doubt in reprimand, but then caught the eye of Master Yoda seated next to him. For a moment, Ro could see the Jedi Master struggling with his temper.

She nearly gaped at the sight. Mace Windu, the walking glacier, struggling for control? That was like seeing Master Yoda tap-dancing through the Archives.

_Is this what the war is doing to him? _she wondered, thinking of the few conversations she'd had with her older brother since the start of the Wars, none of which had gone particularly well. _Is this the price the Order is paying? Getting worn down to the point where a Jedi Master is too tired to reign in his temper? _It was a scary thought.

Finally, with a far more gracious nod than before, Master Windu turned back to her.

"My apologies Padawan, if I seem…intemperate."

Ro blinked at the holo in surprise. If Master Windu's momentary bad mood had caught her off-guard, this downright stunned her into paralysis. Had _Master Mace Windu _actually just _apologized_? To _her? _

_This can't be good, _she thought. _Either Mustafar just froze over or the Seps finally released that death ray they've been ranting on about and Gaftikar's in the line of fire. _

Ro shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Maybe a change of topic was in order, before she gave in to the overwhelming desire to write her will. "Ehm, Masters, not to get all above my station and that, but can I ask what this is about? I mean, this isn't just a social call, is it?" She looked from one to the other as Master Yoda and Windu shared a significant glance with each other. They did that _a lot._ "It isn't," she concluded. "Something happened."

Yoda gave a heavy sigh, his holographic image flickering momentarily as if in sympathy. "New developments there are, in the Senate. An emergency session, the Chancellor has called. Concerning Gaftikar, it does."

"The Chancellor," Windu continued, "is petitioning the Senate for permission to suspend Gaftikar's civilian government and declare martial law."

Collective jaws dropped in astonishment.

"Martial law?" Gaff asked, stunned. "Bu-but, sirs we don't…I mean," he looked towards Ro and his chief medic, momentarily at a loss for words. "Generals," he said, "we don't have the man power to instigate such an order."

"Not to mention the reaction of the civvies when this gets out." Wren stepped into the holotransmitter's view, fuming. "This entire planet is a powder keg and the Chancellor is about to light the fuse."

"Sergeant," Gaff hissed at him.

But Wren ignored him. Ro could feel that he was working himself up into something and it wasn't anything good.

"What exactly, Generals, do you expect this batch of effing shinies to do? Stun the Gaftikari into submission? Because once we start shooting with live rounds, they'll overrun this entire kriffing base and put our heads on stakes. Or even better, the bleating Marits can put us into one of their stanging stews."

The right side of his mouth twisted upwards, the scar turning the scathing gesture into something furious and mocking. "But maybe I should congratulate the Chancellor while I still have the chance. He's finally hit upon a plan of action that'll karking well unite the Marits and Humans. Nothing like a common enemy to…"

His livid diatribe was cut off by Ro's elbow slamming into his midsection. Actually, it was more cut off by her sudden yelp of pain, because poodoo_…._that armor was _hard. _Wren couldn't have felt more than the shifting of his plates, but a hot, needle-like pain shot through Ro's elbow that momentarily made her a little woozy. _I think my good deed just got punished, _she thought giddily. _At least I got him to shut up. _

Ro rubbed at her elbow, stepping closer to the image of the two Jedi Masters in an attempt to draw their attention on her, rather than on the still fuming Wren. "I think," she said, "what Sergeant Wren is trying to say is that this has come as a surprise and might not be the wisest course of action the Chancellor could take at the moment."

She shot Wren a quelling look, which he returned with a glare that rivaled a proton torpedo in intensity. Was he suicidal? While she may agree with everything that he had just said, Ro had learned one very valuable lesson during her tutelage on Ansion: there was doing the right thing and then there was doing it the right way. Criticizing the Chancellor for this rather boneheaded move might be the right thing to do, but laying into the two most revered and respected Jedi Masters wasn't the right way to do it.

Thankfully, Master Yoda was a far more kind and understanding being than most outsiders gave him credit for. He spent a few moments scrutinizing the sergeant, but then turned his full attention on Ro. She detected nothing but patience and a deep, all-encompassing insight in that gaze. While he gave no outward appearance of it, Ro had the distinct feeling that privately, Master Yoda might share some of Wren's views.

"Agreed, the Council is," he told her now, his aged voice rasping a little.

_Is he suppressing a laugh? _She wondered. Judging by the look Master Windu shot his fellow Council member, which held just a tad of irritation, Ro wasn't so far off track.

"Believe, the Council does not, that martial law is the answer. Justice, it is not. Rule by force, it is. Aware certain senators we have made of this."

"Certain senators?" Ro questioned. "Does that mean Senators Amidala and Organa?"

Now Windu focused his attention on her as well, his heavy brows lifting slightly in surprise. "You are well informed, Padawan." Unspoken went the words, "Of the Order's affairs".

Ro ducked her head a little, but did not break eye contact. "A lot is going on. I try to keep abreast. And it's no secret that Senator Amidala and Senator Organa are two of the staunchest defenders of the Order and they are the leading members of the Loyalist and the Security Committee. If they speak against this," she continued, trying to work it out mostly for herself, "then it should weigh heavily in the minds of a good portion of the Senate. It might not stop the decision, but it will drag out the debate. More often than not, it takes the Senate a month or more just to agree on the stationary for the overflow offices."

There was an unexpected chuckle from Master Yoda and even Master Windu's constantly stern façade appeared to crack just a bit.

"That," Windu said with slight amusement in his voice, "sums it up rather succinctly."

Ro danced her fingers across the transmitter's controls, thinking. "How much time do we have?" she asked. "I mean, I'm guessing all this depends on whether or not we can catch the bomber?"

Windu nodded, his serious demeanor once more reasserting itself. _When has that man last cracked a smile? _She wondered. Certainly not in her lifetime.

"Arresting this bomber would help, yes. The main force behind the petition is Shenio Mining. They are couching the case in terms of financial assets and threats to the Republic's natural resources."

Ro nodded. Credits, it figured.

"However, if the civilian government can prove itself self-sufficient and reliant enough to solve this crisis on its own, the Senate might be swayed in their favor."

"When is the session scheduled to begin?" Gaff asked, tentatively inserting himself into the conversation. Ro gave him a reassuring smile for his efforts.

"In two days," Windu told them.

That nearly knocked the breath out of Ro for the second time that day. "Two days?" she repeated, shocked. "That's…." she shook her head. "I'm not sure that's enough time." Personally, she knew it wasn't. Unless the bomber dumped himself on their doorstep, gift-wrapped, this case would take a lot longer than two days to resolve. _Unless, _Ro thought, _we get lucky and he leaves us more clues to work with. _She suppressed a shudder. Lucky, in this instance, would mean more attacks. And she didn't want that. Not ever.

"Change the facts, we cannot," Master Yoda told her. "Trust in the Force, we must. And trust in you, we will."

Ro looked up at the aged head of the Order that had first raised her. Their eyes locked and held, teal and ancient brown, and for a moment, Ro felt the Force gently rippling through her. It was like an encouraging pat on the head. She found herself smiling back at the diminutive Jedi in gratitude.

"Thank you, Master Yoda. I will do my best. May the Force be with you."

"And with you." And with that, the holo of the two Jedi Masters dispersed, leaving the MTCC momentarily darker in its absence.

Wess was the first to speak. "I should get back to the hospital," he said. "The staff there still needs the help of our medical team." He turned towards Gaff, clicking his heels together and throwing his commanding officer a respectful salute. "With your permission, Commander?"

"Granted," Gaff said without hesitation. "If the hospitals require anything else, don't hesitate to call."

"I will, sir," Wess said and left the room.

Ro watched him go thoughtfully. _Now there's a good man, _she thought. She glanced at Gaff, quietly speaking to one of the technicians on duty. _They both are. In fact, all of the men I've met here so far are good ones. _

Her eyes came to rest on Wren, who was standing by himself off to one side of the transmitter, face mostly in shadow. Not that that hid the fury he was radiating from her. _Good men, _she thought again. _Even if they don't want to think so. _

Plucking the bundled of rags that had once been her clothes from one of the many pockets lining her pants, Ro went over to Gaff. He turned towards her, giving her his full attention as soon as he became aware of her approach.

"I need this delivered to the University of Aldera, on Alderaan," she told him, handing him over the bundled. He looked it over curiously.

"What is this?"

"What's left of my clothes, from yesterday. My astromech detected tiny traces of what might have been the incendiary element from the residential bomb, but he isn't programmed to analysis so small an amount."

"With all due respect, we can do that," Gaff protested.

"I know," she said, keeping her voice low and kind. He was just trying to do the best he could. "But the equipment at Aldera is far superior to anything past the Core Worlds and it employs one of the best forensic chemists in the galaxy. I'd rather not take any chances."

Gaff gave a defeated sigh, but nodded his consent. "I understand. I'll see to arranging a transport to Alderaan with the next supply shuttle."

"Thank you." She put her hand on his armored arm, squeezing gently in appreciation though he probably couldn't feel it through the armor. He gave her a startled look at the gesture, but his lips quirked up in a hesitant smile.

"I'll be going back to the _Mockingbird,_" she informed him."There's something nagging me about this entire situation and I'm hoping I'll find a clue in from the commissioner's reports." It wasn't what she had wanted to do today, but the news from Coruscant had rattled her enough that she wanted some time alone to rethink and regroup. She most definitely needed to come up with a new strategy.

"Understood," he said, once more returning to his more formal manner.

Ro gave him another smile, then left the MTCC.

She was not unaware of the fact that she was being followed, nor of the identity of her impromptu shadow. That crackling field of constant, barely controlled anger shouted out to her senses like a nova on Umbara.

So when Wren grabbed her elbow and yanked her into a corner of the hallway, she was prepared and did not lose her balance at the sudden force.

Steadily, she looked up into his furious eyes, their normal brown darkened almost to black with the intensity of his emotions.

"What the kriffing hell did you think you were doing back there?" he hissed at her, shaking her slightly.

"What I was doing," she retorted, "was saving your hide from a tanning. Master Yoda might have the patience of a saint, but not of a god and that goes doubly for Master Windu."

"I. Don't. Need. Your. Help." Each word was emphasized with another shake to her already sore elbow.

Ro felt her own temper flare in response to the action and to the general aura he was giving off. "You saying you don't appreciate my way of doing things?" she challenged.

He leaned even closer to her, looming over her like a Wookiee in a fit.

"Quite the contrary," he spat at her. "Ass-kissing, I hear, is a high-demand skill on Coruscant."

She leaned closer as well, matching him stare for stare. "So is castration."

"I'm in armor."

"You…"

Her world suddenly went grey. A variable storm of emotions swept over her, so intense that it threatened to subsume her consciousness. _Pain, fear, agony, confusion. Emptiness: _a horrid, gaping emptiness where life should have been.

She gasped, her legs giving out beneath her as her vision swam. Instinctively she reached for something solid to hold onto, both with the Force and with her fingers. She found Wren. She latched onto his arms, which were suddenly the only things keeping her upright as another wave crested and swept her away.

_Terror, torment, panic _and then…fading. Everything was fading. Sight, smell, even touch leached out of her conscious awareness.

What brought Ro around was the lancing, stabbing pain in her head as the mind-block kicked in, momentarily freezing her body and Force-awareness in place, so that the force of the wave of emotions pulled over her without dragging her down with it. The other thing was the sensation of being shaken hard enough to rattle her teeth.

"…o! Ro, what's going on? Kark it, don't make me slap you, _cheeka_."

"The city," she managed to gasp out just as the air was torn apart by the wail of sirens and the entire base was bathed in the red flashing strobes of the emergency lights, calling all hands to their posts.


	17. Chapter 16: Consumed

**Author's Warning: **This chapter includes violent death, burning and bodies. Some of you know me well enough to know that I don't usually go into gory details, but I promised to give a heads-up when a more intense scene occurs. So, heads-up. Also this chapter is very, very long. I promise there will be no others this long, but I couldn't bring myself to shorten this, so please bear with me.

**Author's Alert: **It has been brought to my attention that some readers have missed the fact that I replaced my author's note from last week with an actual chapter. I'm sorry about that; I thought I'd made it clear that I would post chapter 16 the same week that I posted the author's note, but I guess I didn't. So, here it is. **_Please Read Chapter 16. It is an actual chapter now and contains useful information for future developments of this story. Wren/Ro silliness guaranteed. _**

* * *

**Consumed**

"_What really raises one's indignation about suffering is not suffering intrinsically, but the senselessness of suffering." _

_Friedrich Nietzsche _

* * *

_Drezd'any Street, main shopping district, city centre, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (25 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Despite the uncertainty of the times and the state of the galaxy, life on Gaftikar had to go on. The Gaftikari were frightened; their economy was slipping, the sociopolitical power dynamic had changed drastically and there was a bomber on the loose. But that didn't change the fact that meals had to be prepared, chores needed to be done and jobs, those few that were still available, had to be attended to.

So it was that the main shopping district in Eyat city began to fill up with the regular morning crowd.

Among them, a tapcaf owner greeted his first customers of the day, anxiously casting regular glances through the big windows, trying to see if anyone was watching him serving Marits as well as Humans. Only last week someone had thrown a stone through one of his tapcaf's windows and the owner had only finished scrubbing the word "traitor" from his walls yesterday. But times were hard and business was business and the Marits were some of the only Gaftikari with a regular flow of credits.

Outside in the streets, people were rushing past the tapcaf, on their way home or to other stores. Most kept their heads down, eyes fixed on the permacrete of the sidewalks. Humans and Marits did not make eye contact, out of dislike and fear of what might happen. Tempers were frayed and a casual glance could be quickly blown out of proportion.

A group of Human youths was loitering at an intersection, passing around a gleaming cig, the smoke curling gently in the morning's air, before being blown away by the breeze. They talked in low voices, making the occasional disparaging noise or rude gesture at Marits who were industriously moving through the shopping district. The Marits paid them no attention, except for the occasional flaring of neck-frills.

When a squad of white-armored clone troopers passed through the intersection, the youths reluctantly moved further into an alleyway. One of the clones turned towards them, walking with his back towards his squad, his helmeted face fixed on the group. Though the main trouble was dealt with by the night patrol, it paid to be wary. Sneak attacks were not uncommon. The youths merely watched the clones, the single light from the cig glaring as sullenly from the shadows as their eyes.

The squad's sergeant, Fallout, kept his eyes on everything, tracking individuals with quick, jerky movements of his head, not unlike that of a Marit. When there was a sudden chorus of shrieks, all the troopers raised their blasters without the need of a signal from their squad leader. People scrambled out of the line of fire, quickly ducking back into stores, casting frightened and nervous glances from around corners or through display windows. The tapcaf owner looked up from where he'd been wiping down his counter, face going white.

The shrieking grew louder, came closer…and a group of children burst out from one of the side streets in a tumble of little bodies. Hastily, Fallout threw up his arm, signaling to the rest of his men to lower their blasters. They did so in unison.

The children, a mixed group of Humans and Marits, came to a sudden, abrupt halt. They stared up at the troopers, eyes wide and mouths opened in surprise. Or, in the case of the Marits, heads ducked low to the ground, beige scales going a little paler. The ball the group had been chasing rolled passed the troopers and onto the main thoroughfare. One of the children, a boy of maybe nine, gave a dismayed cry and made as if to go after it.

Fallout stopped the boy, interposing himself between the child and the street. "Hold it, son."

The boy stopped, as if frozen in place; big, blue eyes stared into the imposing blank mask of the sergeant's helmet. Fallout signaled his men to stay put and keep an eye on their surroundings, then stepped towards the street. He looked first left, then right, then left again, then walked onto the permacrete road. Holstering his blaster, he scooped up the ball. Two approaching landspeeders slowed down, one of the drivers honking angrily. Fallout made an appropriately rude gesture with one hand in return.

Back on the sidewalk, he threw the ball lightly to the boy, making it an easy catch. Surprised, the boy stretched out his hands and caught the ball with the unthinking easy grace only younglings seemed to possess.

"Scat now," Fallout told the group. "And keep away from the streets," he added sternly.

As one, the group of children ran off, back into the maze of side streets and alleys, their shrieks of delight once more echoing from the buildings, now that their ball was back in their possession.

Fallout watched them go for a moment, then hand signaled to his squad to resume the patrol.

Watching from the tapcaf, the shop's owner shook his head, smiling. It was a shame that the schools hadn't reopened yet, but from time to time, it was nice to hear the children playing. It was a good start for a new day.

He died smiling.

When the bomb exploded in the tapcaf's kitchen, the blast wave from the explosion created highly compressed air particles. Traveling faster than the speed of sound, this initial blast wave was powerful enough to tear through the small shop. Kitchen equipment and furniture was thrown into the air and torn apart. Before his brain had time to process what was happening, the blast wave had already ruptured the tapcaf owner's ear drums, his lungs and all the hollow organs in his body. He was dead by the time his bones began to splinter.

The first blast wave lasted only milliseconds, but it was enough time to move outwards with enough force to break through the brick walls, sending clouds of debris filled dust into the crowded street. Glass, plaster, wood, durasteel and pieces of furniture flew like missiles. Lethal shards of shrapnel impaled many of the pedestrians outside.

Before the people outside had time to react or even fully comprehend what was happening, the first shockwave hit them full force. Like the blast wave, the shockwave tore through soft tissue and organs. Supersonic, the wave carried with it more energy than any normal sound wave. A Marit, caught in the shockwave's direct path, was thrown a full five meters before his body hit the wall of another shop and slid to the ground. Green ichor flowed out of both nostrils. All of his blood vessels had ruptured.

And on the heels of the shockwave, there came the fire.

The incendiary material within the bomb had been released with the initial explosion and sent outwards on the blast wave. Upon contact with oxygen, it burst into flames, climbing to a temperature hot enough to melt durasteel in less than a second. The created fireball tore through what was left of the kitchen, hit a ruptured tibanna gas line and roared into life.

A second explosion ripped through the remains of the tapcaf. A fiery one.

Fed with tibanna gas and oxygen, the fireball expanded almost exponentially. Bricks cracked and exploded from the heat, the tapcaf vanished in the flames and the fireball moved outwards relentlessly.

Humans or Marits, whoever was caught by that roiling cloud of flame was instantly cooked, reduced to little more than ash in the space of mere moments, as lungs tried to draw a last breath and caught nothing but flaming air.

The fire rolled onwards, galvanized by the explosive force of the gas lines, reaching temperatures in those first few seconds high enough to blister the permacrete, crack facades of nearby stores and almost completely consume the surrounding oxygen.

It had happened so fast, one horrifying event following the next so quickly, that people were still being tossed about like leaves by the shockwave by the time the fire reached them.

Some landed in the superheated permacrete, bursting into flames upon contact with the roiling mess, fighting to free themselves of the clinging, sticky, super hot permacrete even as their flesh burned and their bones cracked.

Two landspeeders were caught by the shockwave. One was thrown into a paint shop across from the tapcaf. The people inside screamed, but could not escape the crushed, rolling projectile. The landspeeder buried them beneath it and so they and the driver were dead long before the landspeeder's engine exploded, causing enough heat for the oil-based paints in the shops to oxidize and ignite.

The sudden heat flash overwhelmed the shop's emergency extinguishing system. The heat tore through the building, found the gas lines and melted them clean through. The tibanna escaped with a hiss and made contact with the oil-based fire. A third explosion tore through Drezd'any Street and fireball met fireball.

The two unevenly heated sources met, merged and the collision of superheated air galvanized the flames. The force of the meeting tore through the ground, clawed at the pipes and landlines beneath, getting at more of the volatile tibanna gas just a second before Eyat's emergency override system could seal the pipes.

With a roar the fire leaped upwards and outwards, grew and grew...into a firestorm that consumed everything in its path.

The second landspeeder had been thrown further than the first by the shockwave. It crashed off of the façade of another building, was thrown on its side and skidded the last few meters under a shower of sparks and the shrieking of agonized metal.

The youths that had returned to their corner saw it coming, but not all were fast enough to escape. Three were pinned beneath the landspeeder, trapped like the driver when the doubled force of the firestorm hit them full on. Even as those four were incinerated, the flames reached hungrily for the people fleeing from its inexorable might.

The rest of the youths tried to outrun the firestorm, shedding clothing that began to burn. One girl frantically beat at her head as her hair caught fire.

More than an entire city block was now in flames, with Drezd'any Street as the fire's white-hot heart. No one inside the perimeter was spared. Not Humans. Not Marits. And not even clones.

The Phase II armor had been specially reinforced to withstand greater temperatures than the Phase I had, but plastoid was not Katarn and the squad of troopers were in the immediate blast zone.

Fok, acting as the squad's rear guard, was the first to die. The shockwave caught him up, shattering his spine in the process. Spotter, walking directly ahead of Fok, had enough time to start turning towards his brother before a thirty centimeter long piece of shrapnel - what had once been part of the tapcaf's conservator - tore through his right side, cleaving off his arm and most of his shoulder, rupturing half of his chest cavity. Another piece of shrapnel decapitated Spotter before he had time to bleed out.

Lim, Tresh and Orar too fell prey to the shrapnel and the shockwave, their bodies torn to pieces before they'd had much more than a second to register what was happening. Tri, Tal and Pryce burned where they stood as the firestorm caught up with them.

Their sergeant, Fallout, had been walking at the head of the squad and finely honed reflexes had brought him to a half crouch the instant his HUD had registered the distinctive change in air pressure that could only be created by a good sized detonation. So when the shockwave reached him, his body was more compact than that of his troopers.

The shockwave lifted him clean off of his feet, rupturing several organs, but did not kill him outright. Through the pain, Fallout switched his suit to emergency life support, knowing what would come next.

When the torrent of flame reached him, he breathed in the suits recycled oxygen while the fire around him consumed the oxygen on the outside. He was tossed, slammed, then slammed again into the ground, breaking several bones in the process. Fallout came to rest in a street that was now a bubbling, clinging, thick slush. He couldn't get up. His body was too broken to move and the thickly liquid permacrete of the street held him fast. His HUD was flashing red, tracking temperatures on the outside that were quickly climbing past two-thousand degrees. The seals in his armor were being compromised, simply melting off of his frame.

But before the heat completely melted the plastoid off of his body and destroyed his armor's integrity, Fallout had just enough time to comm the base for one last transmission.

"This is CS-65…" There was no life left in him for more.

People screamed and cried and died, the fire bellowed in triumph like an ancient demon and Drezd'any Street disintegrated into a scene from a mythical text, depicting the depths of hell.

It had all taken less than eight seconds. Now, there was only the firestorm.

* * *

_Later..._

The heat pressed against Ro almost as soon as she got to Drezd'any Street. Or what was left of it. For a few seconds that seemed to stretch like the stars during a hyperspace jump, all she and the clones from Eyat Base could do was stare in transfixed horror at the firestorm advancing towards them. It was like a great, bellowing animal; without remorse or mercy…and very hungry.

Then the paralysis broke and frantic activity took over. For Ro, the next hours were nothing but a blur defined by brief, disconnected images.

…_red-clad police officers forcefully pushing away crowds. One of them tackled a woman to the ground as she tried to run into the inferno. She was crying, screaming that her son was in there, her baby, playing with his friends…_

…_a mixed group of clones, firefighters and cops pulling down empty structures, trying to create a firebreak…_

…_Wess frantically working over a prostrate body, swaddled in wet, dripping blankets. But every time he removed the coverings to try and get at the injuries, the exposed areas burst back into flames…_

…_.firefighters and clones breaking down doors, dragging, chasing and carrying screaming, wounded, protesting and terrified people out of buildings in the path of the oncoming blaze…_

…_little bits of flaming flimsi gently rocking in the wind, like feathers…_

…_Wren kicking down the door of a house already on fire, while firefighters stood nearby, helpless. Their gear would not hold up as well to the heat as the clone's armor. He disappeared into a cloud of thick, roiling, grey and black smoke…._

…_the girl on the litter Ro was helping to carry thrashing, trying to pull off the wet, fire-resistant swaddlings that covered her head completely…the gleam of Ro's second pair of binders against the girl's blackened skin, when the Jedi cuffed her to keep her from injuring herself further…_

…_Gaff and a group of five other clones running dangerously close to the edges of the firestorm, trying to move a crashed speeder, its driver dead and a passenger still inside…_

…_permacrete growing soft beneath her boots, forcing her to retreat…_

…_a Marit, her head swinging slowly from side to side, emitting little, shocked croons that should have been lost in the roaring of the fire…_

…_firefighters ineffectually spraying water at the blaze, knowing it wouldn't stop the firestorm's advance, but hoping it would buy them time…_

…_a streetlight drooping like a flower under the sun, its durasteel stem softened by the heat until the glass covering the bulb nearly touched the ground….the glass began to drip, like warm ice cream…_

…_someone saying over and over again, "I don't understand. I don't understand." Like anyone could…._

…_a trooper crying out, the armor over his shoulder beginning to bubble and blacken. A police officer came to his aid, ripping off the piece of plastoid, scorching his hands in the process…_

…_screams…tears…shouted orders…calls for help…warnings…pushing…shoving…coughing...pleading… bleeding…and heat. The heat, the fire, the noise…._

It was a sound that brought Ro out of her unthinking stupor, bringing her consciousness back to reality. There was the whine of engines, audible even over the advancing firestorm that was slowly eating its way through the shopping district.

Ro couldn't spare a glance heavenwards at the moment; she was trying to soothe a badly burned Marit, while a paramedic attempted to start an IV. The lizard, lying on her least injured side, was moaning incoherently, her beige scales blackened and cracked with green ichor oozing from the wounds. Ro was holding one of her claw-tipped digits, crooning softly to her, emitting as many calming emotions as she could, given the circumstances. The Marit's breathing was no more than a strained, stertorous rasping. Her eyes, when she looked at Ro, were milky and bloodstained. The heat had scorched her retinas. When Ro gently stroked her hand, bits of scales fluttered to the ground and clung to her skin. The stench of burned flesh was threatening to make her sick, but she concentrated on the need the Marit and the medic had of her and ignored her stomach.

"'S'alright," she cooed at the Marit. It was an asinine thing to say, considering the situation, but she didn't have anything else. "Just breathe. Breathe." She repeated the mantra, gently coaxing the Marit's attention away from the paramedic, who was now forced to peel away burned layers of scaly skin in the hope of finding a single, still usable artery for the IV. The only mercy about third degree burns was that most of the nerves were too damaged to send pain signals to the brain.

_What a dreadful thing to be grateful for, _was what occurred to Ro, even as she tried to project _reassurance, calm _and _safety _at the Marit in a desperate attempt to keep her from going into shock.

So it was that she heard the distinctive whine of an atmo ship, but dared not look away from her patient. Neither, she realized, did the paramedic. He'd finally found an artery for the IV, though Ro saw that he'd had to insert the needle into the chest cavity. He must have tapped one of the big veins leading directly to the heart. Ro barely kept a wince from her face. That was a thrice-cursed risky move even under the best of circumstances.

It was the cheering that finally distracted both Ro and the paramedic. Looking up from their patient, Ro saw a small fleet of rescue vehicles and assorted other ships flying over the firestorm. At first she thought they must have been dumping more extinguishing foam, but then she realized that the mass being expelled from the ships was brown, not white.

_Earth! _She realized with a start. _They're dumping earth instead of the foam to smother the flames. _

And it seemed to be working. Ro had no idea how much earth was actually being dumped onto the fire, but it must have been tons. And the fire didn't like it. Like a sullen child, the flames shrunk and retreated from the growing mounds of earth. Flames not yet buried leaped up, as if in revenge for their fallen brethren, flickering tongues of flames outstretched to try and catch a taste of the hovering aircrafts. One of the ships actually did limp away from the scene, one engine smoking ominously.

"Done," the medic rasped and Ro's attention was once more drawn to the ground and the tragedy around her. She helped the paramedic carry the Marit back to the triage area, which had been set up well over a klick away from the firestorm.

When she raced back to the scene of carnage, she could see that airspeeders had now joined the tiny fleet of ships, people bodily dumping crates of loose earth down onto the ever-retreating inferno.

A shout drew her attention. Glancing to the left of her she saw a police officer, filthy from head to toe just like her, frantically gesturing at her. He and another officer and a clone medic were scrambling over a pile that might once have been a house. Ro ran to join them. Her next task was using the Force to try and find survivors who might still be buried beneath the ruins.

* * *

When the fire was officially declared put out, Wren was busy imitating a lever.

He and four other troopers had their backs and arms pressed against the twisted undercarriage of a hover truck, their armored boots digging into the rubble for better purchase. Wren felt sweat run down his face despite his suit's environmental controls, while his muscles strained against the weight of the truck. Slowly, with agonized _eeeks_ of metal, the truck began to lift and tip a little backwards.

"Now," he gasped out at the waiting firefighters. The three men didn't have to be told twice. One jammed a hydraulic jack into the gap the troopers had created, taking some of the weight off of the men. The other two reached their hands into the gap and pulled out the burned and badly wounded form of a Human. Horribly burned, Wren couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman.

Once the firefighters and their patient were clear, Wren gave another shouted command and the troopers flung themselves away from the truck.

Without the equally distributed support of the troopers, the still hot frame of the hover truck began to bend, then split apart. The section the jack was holding up remained firm, but the rest collapsed into a bent heap of metal, still glowing orange from the heat of the fire.

"You boys alright?" the firefighter who had placed the jack asked the group of troopers. His two colleagues were busy gently moving the unconscious Human onto a stretcher and hurrying away. Wren watched them go, wondering if the wretch would survive. Personally, he didn't think so.

"We're fine," he told the firefighter, choosing for once to be tactful and keeping the words, "better than that poor bastard," unspoken.

"You sure?" the man asked, glancing pointedly at the back of Wren's armor, where the plastoid had begun to blister from the contact with the heated metal.

"It's good kit," was all he said in response. The firefighter nodded in weary acceptance, then trudged off.

With the civvie out of earshot, Wren turned towards the four troopers he'd been working with. He grabbed the first one, Notch, and gave him a rough going over. Notch gave a yelp of surprise when Wren forcefully turned him around, so that he could inspect the damage to the back plate.

He ran a knowing hand over the blistered plastoid. Notch would have to requisition a new back plate, but Wren could feel through his gloves that the heat damage did not extend all the way through the plastoid.

"Check each other," he barked out at Fince, Mekk and Hatch, who was replacing Ezec as Mekk's partner, since the other trooper was still on light duty due to the injuries he'd procured during the riot. "This stuff spreads easily, whatever it is and I'm not going to waste my time blowing on you while you play Human candle."

He pushed Notch towards Fince, so that the two brothers could check their armors over for any damage that might further breach the suit's integrity. And to make sure that none of them were covered by the unknown substance that was capable of bursting into flame at the slightest contact with oxygen.

Wren watched the rookies through his HUD while sweeping his surroundings. The fire was more or less out, which seemed almost surreal after the hours they must have spent in its vicinity. The air was still thick with smoke and heat and he could still hear the shouting and moaning of the wounded, the calls for help and orders from the rescue workers and the occasional crash as something else collapsed, but the constant roaring of the flames had ceased. _Until the next time that kark decides to detonate one of his effing bombs, _he thought viciously. There was no doubt in Wren's mind that this was another bombing attack.

"Sir." It was Notch. "Everyone is in the green, sir." The trooper waited a beat for Wren's acknowledgement and when it didn't come, continued. "Would you like me to check you, Sergeant Wren?"

"No," he snapped, without turning about to face the shiny. "Get back to Gaff for your next orders."

"But Sergeant…"

He didn't bother to listen to the rest. Ignoring the shinies, Wren set out across the street, towards a group of firefighters who were slowly advancing towards what had been the outer edge of the firestorm that had consumed an entire city block and pretty much everything else in a radius of nearly three hundred meters.

The men and women of the fire brigade in their bright yellow jackets were making their way slowly, but steadily, towards the epicenter of the disaster. They advanced as a single line, many of them holding sensor rods, which they continuously swept from side to side. Wren, unfamiliar with the procedures firefighters operated on, guessed the sensors were either there to inform them of residual heat pockets, or additional explosive devices. Maybe both. All of them carried long, thin poles with which they poked the earth before them, testing the ground's stability.

With them moved a slim little figure; blue-blond hair fluttering in the breeze created as the hot air of the destruction corridor met the cooler air from the rest of Eyat.

He came up to walk beside her, shortening his stride to match the general cautious speed of the group.

"You look like hell," he told Ro. It was true. Her clothes were streaked with soot and other stains that were clearly of an organic origin. Small burn holes dotted her shirt, where burning debris, or hot ash, must have touched the cloth. It must be a minor miracle that she hadn't caught on fire herself.

"Everything does," she told him soberly.

Wren couldn't argue with that. The scene around them did look very much like what some cultures imagined hell to look like, even without the flames. Still…

"I've seen worse." And that was the absolute truth.

Ro stopped, letting the line of firefighters pass her by. Wren stopped with her, meeting her eyes through his visor.

She was scrutinizing him, as if trying to search his face despite the fact that he was wearing his bucket. Wren, in turn, took the opportunity to study her a bit more carefully.

He couldn't quite discern her expression. The lower half of her face was completely covered by the emergency breath mask Wess had pressed into her hands before they'd left the base. A film of grime had been ground into the skin above the mask's rim, irregular tracks washed clean by sweat. The overall impression Ro presented was one of an ancient warrior adorned with primitive battle paint. It made reading facial cues difficult, but not impossible. Particularly not for a clone who was used to staring at the blank visage of a helmet.

She was obviously upset, both by what had happened and by what he had said. He'd seen that particular look often enough on General Tur-Mukan's face, back when he'd still been serving with the 35th on Qiilura.

But there was also a thoughtfulness about Ro that he couldn't quite place. It appeared as if she were weighing his words and trying to fit them into some larger context.

"I see," was what she finally said. That, certainly, had never been General Tur-Mukan's response. Wren wondered what it was that Ro was seeing.

There was a crunch and the sound of shifting earth off to their side and both Ro and Wren looked up to see one of the firefighters coming towards them.

"All clear," she told them, her voice slightly muffled by her rebreather helmet, which, unlike Ro's mask, covered her entire face with a plasticlear visor. "Far as we can tell, the fire's out."

"Where'd you get the idea for the dirt?" Wren asked.

Behind her plasticlear rebreather, the woman smiled wearily. "Our chief got the idea from your commander. He's the one who figured out we needed something that would provide a continuous oxygen deprivation."

Wren raised an eyebrow at that. Really? He hadn't thought Gaff was blessed with that much observational power.

The firefighter continued. "We used up all of our extinguishing foam with the fire at the residential block, but the chief figured dirt would do the job as well." She shrugged her cumbersomely clad shoulders. "We've been hauling barrels of dirt like crazy since yesterday. 'Nough of it around." This last part she muttered almost angrily to herself.

"Is it safe to go further in?" Ro asked, her voice sounding with a slightly metallic ping to it due to the breather mask. "I'd like to do a search of my own."

The firefighter quickly glanced down at Ro's utility belt, from which her lightsabers dangled prominently. She shook her head apologetically. "Can't make no promises. There's structural integrity to worry about with those few buildings still standing and there might still be undiscovered pockets of embers smoldering beneath the dirt. But I think," and she shrugged, "it's about as safe as it can be at the moment. You should keep the breath mask on though. We're getting some nasty readings from the air."

Wren glanced at the clouds of heavy smoke still lingering over the site. His HUD's sensors were also registering hazardous gases in the air, which his bucket's filters were busily sorting out.

"I'll be fine," Ro told the woman. "The Force should tell me if I'm about to step into something unpleasant."

The firefighter didn't look too convinced. Her expression clearly said that she didn't think a girl Ro's age would be capable of taking care of herself, but she remained silent. The Jedi thing tended to make people insecure about their assessments.

Ro began to wander off in the direction which, according to best guesstimates, was the origin of the firestorm. Wren followed her, both curious to see what she would do and wanting to eyeball the sight a bit more closely himself. This was way out of proportion from anything the bomber had pulled off previously.

There was the sound of footsteps and Wren turned to see Gaff and a squad of troopers, which included Fince, Notch, Mekk and Hatch, catching up to them.

"The site has been declared safe?" Gaff asked, falling into step next to Wren.

"As safe as a minefield," Wren answered. "As long as we don't step wrong, we should be fine."

Gaff threw him a look that was clearly worried, but said nothing else. Instead, the commander fixed his attention on Ro, who was walking a little ahead of the group. Her body language was surprisingly relaxed, with hands hanging loosely at her side; her steps slow, unhurried. Almost sleepily, her head moved from side to side in a continuous arc, constantly sweeping the landscape about her. It looked like she was taking in the sight, expect that she was staring straight into thin air.

"What's she doing?" Mekk, ever curious, wanted to know.

"Quiet," Gaff ordered.

Wren, who had worked with Jedi before and had seen behavior similar to this, ignored Gaff's order and told Mekk, "She's searching through the Force. Supposedly, when something bad happens, Jedi feel a 'disturbance'." The squad was listening attentively to him now, even Gaff. This would be the first time they saw a Jedi in action and for the rookies, the Force and the Jedi were still shrouded in that near sacrosanctity that their training on Kamino had instilled in them. They'd never seen a Jedi lose it in battle, or make idiotic calls, or simply be a fallible sentient being. Wren, who had and then some, was less impressed by Jedi in general, but he could admit that the Force had its uses.

"But the bad thing's already happened," Fince pointed out. Always with the obvious that one.

"Doesn't mean something else kriffing bad might not still happen. Ever heard of a booby trap?" he asked caustically. The problem with Fince was that he never thought a thing through before saying something.

"Oh," was the shiny's answer. He gazed about him nervously and moved a little closer towards Notch.

Wren heard a click of teeth over the comm channel, a sure sign that Gaff had just stopped himself from interfering. Instead, the commander activated a private channel between himself and his sergeant.

"Sergeant Fallout and his squad were patrolling this part of the grid this morning."

Wren said nothing. He knew the duty roster as well as the commander.

"The base received an incomplete transmission from the sergeant, just before the sensors detected the explosion. That must mean that," Gaff swallowed hard, but forced himself to finish the thought. "That Fallout must have been here when it happened."

There were a number of things Wren could have said at that moment. One would have been a scathing remark about how the commander excelled in pointing out the obvious just as much as Fince. A different tack would have been to say that Sergeant Fallout and his team could just as easily have been in the _vicinity _of the blast, rather than right in the middle of it.

Wren didn't believe in telling soothing lies, so the latter option was dismissed almost as soon as it occurred to him. As for the first…

Wren cast a quick glance at the commander without moving his head, using the wrap-around vision in his HUD instead. Gaff was walking with a slight stoop, his hands secure around his blaster as he constantly scanned the surrounding area. His stance was alert; the very image of a cautious trooper in a potentially hostile environment. But one finger was tapping anxiously against the barrel of his drawn blaster and there was a cast to his shoulders that told Wren that Gaff knew he had just, for the very first time, lost an entire squad of his men.

Wren knew that he was not a kind man. But he wasn't _that _unkind. The scarred and empty space left inside of him by Asher's and Thrush's deaths twinged with remembered hurt. It was never easy to lose brothers. Wren understood that, even if he hadn't considered a clone a brother since his days on Kamino. So he might have thought of one or three snide answers to Gaff's musings, but he kept them to himself. Silence was about as much kindness as Wren could give.

Ro, who had so far been walking along an imaginary straight line, suddenly came to a halt. The group of clones halted with her, still keeping a few paces between themselves and her. Unerringly, Ro's feet carried her across the small, shifting mounds of earth to her left. She walked a few steps, then knelt and began scooping up handfuls of earth. Wren felt his muscles tense at her action. Why was she moving the dirt? Was she trying to restart the fire?

Ro's excavation stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Silently, she stared blindly at the little hole she'd dug out. From this angle, Wren couldn't see what she was looking at. Then Ro reached into one of the many pockets of her pants and stuck a small, pencil-thin metallic rod next to the hole. There was a brief flicker of different colored lights above the rod, then a small holographic square coalesced, glaringly red in the pale light filtering through the smoky haze.

_Red. _From his work at the other bomb sites, Wren knew that a red holotag meant body parts. It seemed Ro had found someone, or part of someone, who'd fallen victim to the bomber's latest attack.

There was a sharp intake of breath over the comms and Wren cast a quick glance at Gaff. The commander would know what a red holotag meant as well. Surreptitiously, Wren studied the rest of the squad through his HUD. Mekk, of course, was trying to see what the Jedi was doing without obviously craning his head, but Wren didn't think that any of them understood the significance of Ro's find. Perhaps that was for the best.

As they moved steadily further down the street, Ro halted more frequently to place more of the red holotags. Each time she would simply kneel in the dirt for a few seconds, her eyes distant and unfocused. Wren guessed she might be using the Force for something, though what was beyond him. But she never strayed far from her original route, which by now Wren had realized was the actual landspeeder road that had stretched through Drezd'any Street. Wren had no idea how she could tell where the road had run, because everything was covered in several layers of dirt. And the further they got into the street, the eerier their surroundings became.

"This is creepy," muttered Hatch.

"Looks just like the incinerator exercise on Kamino," Notch pointed out.

"Copy that," Hatch agreed. "But that was a _simulation._" His helmeted head swung about to regard the other clone. "This is real." There was a note of fretful awe in his voice.

Wren had no idea what the incinerator exercise was. He'd only joined the ranks of the regular grunts in his eighth year and many of the exercises the ARCs had completed during early training had varied wildly from what the regulars had learned. But looking around, Wren thought that Hatch had picked the right word: creepy.

Eyat in itself was not a colorful place, but Drezd'any Street had been reduced to a state similar to that of a negative imprint. It was all grey and black, the formerly superheated air stirring up a light rainfall of ash that covered everything; including the brown earth, the white clad troopers and the brightly adorned Ro. The further they were coming towards the epicenter, the more they were turning into ashy-grey ghosts.

And it was so _quiet. _Wren couldn't hear a single thing aside from their boots against the dirt and debris. No birds, no traffic sounds, none of the general ambient noises a city created. And that was particularly disturbing, because all he had to do was turn his head and he would be confronted with a riot of people, vehicles, wounded and rescue workers. They'd only been walking for maybe two minutes; he could easily jog back towards civilization. But in here, among the ash and the earth, the burned and blasted bits of debris, the charred skeletons of houses and speeders and, supposedly, the buried remains of people, there was nothing. No sound and no color. Even the sunlight seemed grey and ineffectual as it tried to stream through the clouds of smoke that still hung in the air. It was like being in limbo.

_No simulation could replicate this, _he thought.

"Anyone else picking up whiffs of bad air?" Another trooper asked.

Mekk's head bobbed slightly up and down, a sure sign he was consulting his HUD. "Sensors are picking up definite toxins in that smoke."

"No," the other trooper said. "I mean…there's this smell. I think."

Wren physically had to bite back a remark. He knew of course what the shiny was talking about. There was a smell; not strong, not yet anyways, but it was definitely working its way through the air.

This wasn't Wren's first encounter with an incendiary device. On Atraken, the Seppies had released a biochemical plague that had ended up killing about 90% of the entire population. Hoping to burn the plague out and stop its spread, the locals had firebombed much of their forests and some of the early affected towns. It hadn't worked, but during his eleven months onplanet, Wren had become very familiar with the smell of burned flesh. It would get a lot worse, once cleanup got started and the dirt would be removed.

Ro stopped again, this time, in front of a large crater, measuring almost seven meters in diameter. It wasn't a particularly deep crater, but it was still impressively big.

"That would be the point of origin for the explosion," Fince said.

"No fekking kidding." Wren's voice dripped with sarcasm.

Mekk came closer, standing at the very edge of the crater. There wasn't much to see anymore. Whatever had stood here once had been blasted away except for some remnants of the foundation. "What was this?" Mekk asked.

"A tapcaf."

Surprised, all the troopers turned to look at Ro simultaneously. She hadn't said anything since the start of their trek through this burned wasteland.

"How do you know that?" Mekk wondered. Then, becoming aware that he was under his commander's scrutiny, hastily added, "Ma'am."

Ro didn't correct him about using her name. Instead, she stretched out one hand, palm flat as if she were pressing it against some unseen window. "I can _feel _it," she told Mekk. "I can feel all the emotions of the people that once passed through here and they match the general atmosphere a tapcaf creates and," she pointed towards the side of the crater, "I read the sign."

There was a sign, Wren realized. It was half-buried in the dirt, scorched and twisted from the fire and the explosion, but there were enough letters still readable to guess at the word "tapcaf".

"Oh," was all Mekk said. With a glance at Ro that clearly spoke of embarrassment, he beat a hasty retreat back to the safety of the squad.

Gaff finally took charge of the situation. Turning towards his men, he said, "Alright, we're not here for sightseeing. I want you to pair up and start looking through the debris surrounding that crater," and he pointed at the site, "in a five meter radius."

"Ten," Ro corrected gently. "With a blast this size, you'll want to make it ten."

Gaff, momentarily thrown by this interruption, quickly caught himself before he could salute her. "Ah…yes, thank you, ten. Search the area in a ten meter radius for anything that might lead us to reconstructing this bomb and for clues as to what was in it."

The men saluted their commander smartly and trotted off in diverging directions, falling into a grid search pattern without the need to discuss it. Gaff threw an inquisitive look at Ro, clearly wanting to ask her something, but he kept his silence. Always the good little commander, he joined his men in their search. Wren didn't. Instead, he came to stand next to Ro, who was still gazing down at the crater where a tapcaf used to be. He didn't think that Gaff and the other troopers would find much. This barve was too good to leave any obvious clues and even if he had, the intense heat created by the firestorm would most likely have slagged it. No, if there was anything useful to find, Wren was sure the Jedi would find it.

Ro glanced up at him. "Not joining in?" she asked.

"No."

"Isn't that disobeying a direct order?"

"No. It's ignoring a direct order," he told her, his voice cool. He didn't have to explain himself to her.

She didn't push the issue, merely nodding. "I'm going to do a little more of that standing around we Jedi do," she told him. "If you'd like to watch…" and she inclined her head politely in his direction.

"I'm sure it will be riveting," was his deadpan rejoinder. He didn't think she smiled at him, but there seemed to be the tiniest of crinkling around her eyes.

"Then be riveted," was her gentle, slightly mumbled response. Folding her hands one over the other on her chest, over her heart, Ro closed her eyes. Wren did watch her and saw the rise and fall of her chest visibly decrease. The pulse beating in her neck slowed and everything seemed to grow very still around them. Not the stillness that was the absence of sound created by this landscape of destruction. It was more the stillness of something great and profound gathering at a single point, while the rest of the world held its breath in respect.

As far as Wren could see, she did nothing but stand at the edge of a very large crater. But he could _feel _that she was doing something and it wasn't anything like what she'd done yesterday.

The back of his neck began to tingle slightly, as if someone were brushing their fingers against the skin with the most delicate of touches. Warmth suffused his body, starting with his fingers and toes and spreading inwards. Not an unpleasant sensation, exactly, but definitely alien. Wren had to keep his knees locked to refrain from taking an involuntary step backwards.

Even her outwards appearance changed in some fundamental way that Wren couldn't really define. Before, she'd struck him as this immature little girl who was as unstable as beskium. Now though? With her eyes closed and her face relaxed like that, she was no longer the girl from the market. There was something far more ancient and timeless about her, now that she was surrounding herself with the Force.

_Fay, _was the word that came to him, though he had no idea where he'd picked that one up. But it seemed to fit. Even the blue zigzag lines in her slightly waving hair and the breather mask couldn't detract from the fact that, at that moment, Ro appeared like something otherworldly. More importantly, she _felt _that way.

Just as the feeling was threatening to become unbearably strange, Ro opened her eyes. It was like air rushing back into a vacuum. All at once, the invisible fingers along his neck disappeared along with the unnatural warmth in his body. That heavy, colossal, invisible power disappeared, or dispersed or did whatever the Force did when not called on by a Jedi.

For a moment, Ro was left blinking into nothingness, as if she'd just stared directly into the sun. Wren saw the pupils of her eyes dilating and contradicting until settling back to normal.

_Jedi, _he thought and felt a shiver work itself down his spine despite himself. They were so utterly…outside of his understanding.

"They're over there," she said, voice almost toneless. It was like someone else was speaking through her.

Wren had no idea who "they" were supposed to be, but he followed her when she made her way back to the street. Passing the twisted, slagged remains of a speeder, Ro and Wren walked further down Drezd'any Street, almost to the end of a block. She knelt again in the middle of what had once been a road and began to dig. When Wren saw the first gleam of dirty white, he knelt next to her and helped.

They couldn't uncover much of the body. When they tried, little puffs of smoke began to rise again from the corpse and they had to quickly shovel a new layer of earth over it. But they managed to clear enough for Wren to make out some leftover scraps of olive green piping along one shoulder bell. He sighed, then toggled a comm channel open. "Commander, we found Sergeant Fallout."

Seconds later, Gaff and the rest of the troopers were gathered around Wren, Ro and the corpse of Sergeant Fallout. Even mostly covered by loose earth, it wasn't a pretty sight. The sergeant had somehow become imbedded in the still semi-soft permacrete of the road. Hardening puddles of metal glinted against the remains of his armor; melted shrapnel was Wren's guess. The plastoid itself hadn't so much blistered under the heat as melted. Here and there, entire sections of plastoid had merged with the permacrete, which hadn't managed to stand up to the heat of the fire either. Wren could see exposed sections of blackened and flaking flesh and bone. One side of the helmet had melted away completely, exposing bone that was disintegrating as it was exposed to the air. And the smell was worse now. A lot worse.

"I'm sorry," Ro whispered to the assembled troopers.

Gaff swallowed. "He was a good man." The commander's voice sounded slightly strained, as if he were fighting back some stronger emotional reaction.

Ro's fingers gently reached out to caress the rim of the sergeant's helmet. Closing her eyes, she gave a slight nod. "Yes, he was."

There was a muffled gurgle coming from the group, then the unmistakable sound of someone gagging.

Notch stumbled back slightly, one hand raised to his face as if to cover his nose. "Kriff," he gasped. "That…that sme…" he stumbled further backwards, then abruptly turned his back on the scene, tore off his bucket and began to retch.

Wren's mouth hardened into a thin line.

Fince was instantly at Notch's side, one arm thrown over his brother's shoulders, as Notch continued to empty his stomach.

Gaff made as if to go to Notch as well, but Ro gripped his arm and pointed in a direction southwest of where they were standing. "The rest of the sergeant's squad is there," she told him. "I think, maybe, you should see to them first, before continuing to search the area for bomb fragments." Then, in a quieter voice she added, "Give your men their due. I'll see after Notch."

Gaff hesitated for a moment, clearly torn between his duties, but the compulsion to obey a Jedi finally won out. With a nod, he gathered the other troopers and trudged towards where Ro had said the rest of his men lay.

To Wren, he looked like a beaten dog.

As promised, Ro went over to Notch and Fince. Notch was clearly embarrassed by his reaction, trying to fall into parade rest before the Jedi, even as his body convulsed in another fit of retching. Ro simply put a hand on the back of his neck, subtly encouraging him to remain with his hands braced against his knees and his head down.

Wren watched this interplay and felt his old anger rise up in him, like bile. He had no idea why the tableau angered him, but it did. A lot. In fact, it downright incensed him. He stalked over to the three, just in time to hear Fince say, "…ould maybe get him back to base. Have Lieutenant Wess see after him."

The concern in Fince's voice, the barest hint of a whine behind the plea, pushed Wren over the edge. His ears filling with a roar that had nothing to do with the memory of fire, Wren grabbed Fince and spun the rookie about to face him.

"Could you get any more effing pathetic?" Wren snapped out. Fince flinched, trying to edge away from Wren and back towards Notch and Ro. Somehow, that just pushed his buttons further.

"Fierfek," Wren cursed. "It's like dealing with a pack of Neimodians. What? Did the kriffing long necks forget to program you with a frakking backbone? And put your fekking bucket back on," he snarled at Notch, who'd already started breathing laboriously from breathing in the heavy smoke. "For kripes sake, you're soldiers," he raged at the two hapless troopers, "not a pair of effing civvies. If you can't stomach the sight of a corpse, then too kriffing bad. You'll see a hell of a lot more of them in the future and if you two don't stop whining and running off to be coddled by mommy like brain-damaged batchers then the next corpse will be one of you…"

His head was buzzing with anger. Anger at everything and nothing; at the past and the present and the inevitable future.

A distant part of his mind noted Ro's teal eyes flashing in indignation, but he was too far gone in his own rage to register the warning sign.

The next thing he knew, there was a resounding _crack _and his head whipped to the side as Ro slapped his helmeted face.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Drezd'any is the original slavic name for the city Dresden. This chapter is in commemoration of the February 1945 bombings, in which more than 3,900 tons of high-explosive and incendiary bombs destroyed most of the city and caused a firestorm, killing an estimated 25,000 people.


	18. Chapter 17: Left in the Ashes

**Author's Note: **Nothing gory in this chapter only emotional tenseness. Just wanted to clear up a miscommunication. Chapter 16 is no longer an author's note but a real chapter, featuring all of my OCs and some Intel you might find useful for plot development. Now to return to a galaxy far, far away...

* * *

**Left in the Ashes**

"_Holding anger is a poison….It eats you from inside…We think that by hating someone we hurt them…But hatred is a curved blade…and the harm we do to others…we also do to ourselves." _

_- Mitch Albom, _The Five People You Meet In Heaven

* * *

_Site of the sixth bombing, Drezd'any Street, main shopping district, city centre, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (25 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

A big part of Ro knew that at this moment, her wisest course of action would be to take a step back, do her meditative breathing exercises and just...pause.

Because she knew, simply _knew, _that most of the indignation and outrage she was feeling right now wasn't coming from her. No, she was being affected by the ambient emotional atmosphere around her; her self assaulted by thousands of different feelings through the Force and no matter how good her mental shields were, some of the turbulent emotions were bound to get through. That was the nature of such catastrophes as surrounded her now: violent death caused violent reactions and when you were an empath, those reactions tended to be more than simply...well, empathetic.

For her, being surrounded by strong and intense emotions was a risk. Her own feelings could be subsumed, replaced by the dominant emotions besieging her. They could impact her personality...or her actions.

So Ro knew that this was the worst time possible for her to give in to petty and impulsive actions heedlessly. She _knew _that whatever she did now could only make things worse.

But for just one split second, Ro didn't care.

Because she wasn't a perfect, detached Jedi. Because for her there was emotion and not just the Force and because she was tired and filled with a bone-deep ache that not even a good, hourlong cry would alleviate. And because the fact that Wren, whom she actually liked, was acting like the worst kind of bully to two people who were almost drowning in the pain of the loss of a friend.

So for one moment, no more than the blink of an eye, Ro gave in to her outrage and her indignation at everything that had happened and was happening and took it out on the immediate cause.

Her open hand connected with the side of Wren's helmet with a dull, meaty _clap! _

She hadn't put her entire strength behind the slap, but she hadn't been pulling her punches either and Wren's head snapped to the side. He staggered a little at the unexpectedness of the blow and Ro's own hand went a little numb as a result.

_Monkey feathers, but that armor is _hard! she thought furiously as she shook out her hand vigorously, all the while glaring at Wren.

Wren began to raise a hand to his right cheek, then stopped the action midway. Slowly, almost as if in slow-motion, he turned his helmeted head back to face her.

His armor creaked a little as he did so, the sound almost like a thunderclap in the shocked silence that had settled over the four of them like a glass dome, cutting them off from the rest of the world. In this place of ruin, they were a small corner of limbo trapped within a larger bubble where time and reality had been suspended.

Fince and Notch were standing behind and slightly to the side of Ro; the two troopers huddled together a little and holding perfectly still, as if afraid to even draw breath in case they attracted the attention of either the Jedi or the sergeant. The tension that was building between them was as explosive and even more unstable than the bomb that had destroyed this part of Eyat.

Ro continued to glare at Wren, regardless of the fact that with his helmet on, she couldn't even see his face. She didn't need to.

When the dark slits of his visors came to rest on Ro, the intensity and fury of his emotions nearly knocked the breath out of her.

She'd grown used to the constant presence of anger in him and she'd recognized that, although unwarranted, his anger at Fince and Notch was simply an extension of that ever-present anger that made him crackle like lightning in her awareness. But what she was feeling now was so far past anger. He was _furious _and steadily edging towards a downright destructive, livid _wrath. _At that moment, more than ever, Ro got the sensation from him that she was staring down an akk dog, just a split second away from tackling her to the ground and tearing out her throat.

A hiss of expelled air through his helmet's outer mic broke the silence and Wren snarled at her, "You. Dare…"

Ro didn't let him get any further.

With a speed born of over a decade worth of physical training and augmented by the Force, she grabbed the rim of his helmet with one fist and wrenched his head down, so that the black visor was at eye level with her.

Slight ripples of _astonishment _briefly moved through the mounting storm cloud that was his rage, causing Wren to very briefly hesitate.

Ro, never one to miss an opportunity, used the distraction to address the two troopers standing behind her, who were still frozen in place by the rapidly deteriorating situation brewing between her and Wren.

"Fince, Notch," she called back at them, without moving her gaze away from Wren. "Get back to Gaff if you're feeling up to it. Cookie and me are gonna have ourselves a little palaver."

Wren made a sound at the back of his throat which might have been something rude at the usage of her nickname for him. But the outer mic of his helmet distorted the sound into an animalistic growl. He forcefully tore himself free of her grasp with a quick jerk of his head.

Then he actually tried to attack her.

Considering the fact that he'd been slightly off-balance from the constrained awkwardness of his previous position, the right hook he aimed at the side of her head had an impressive force behind it. Wren expertly shifted his weight onto his back foot and twisted his hips to generate the maximum amount of torque possible. Had the hook actually connected, Ro would have been seriously dazed at best, perhaps unconscious for a few seconds at worst.

The operative word being _had. _

Wren was fast, she'd give him that. But she was faster.

Ro ducked beneath his punch, sidestepped and then flashed out one leg in a side kick. Her boot caught him on the right side, just beneath the elbow he'd brought up to protect the side of his head and his neck. The armor absorbed most of the force of the kick and instead of staggering, Wren's upper torso was only pushed slightly to the side.

But this time, Ro had included the armor in her calculations.

Knowing that the kick would do no more than buy her another seconds worth of hesitation as he regained his balance, Ro had used the traction the armor had provided her foot to thrust herself forward. She twisted as she stepped behind him and this time it was her left foot that flashed out.

Wren was good; she'd give him that, too. He'd managed to follow her movements almost immediately, but those two or three seconds he lagged behind now cost him.

Ro's foot caught him squarely behind the kneecap and Wren's right leg buckled beneath him. He cursed viciously in Huttese, but didn't go down completely.

Still, it had the desired effect of putting him out of commission for a few moments.

Mixed feelings of _shock, concern _and a familiar _worry _in the Force drew her attention to movement at the corner of her eye. Ro risked dividing her attention between her opponent and the outside and glanced to the side. Covered in grime and ash, familiar yellow-striped armor was racing towards her. Behind Gaff came the rest of the squad that had followed him into the destruction corridor. Judging from the tension radiating from Gaff, the commander was ready to intervene in the fight with drawn blasters if necessary.

_Well, chivalry might not be dead, but it sure has lousy timing. _She didn't want Gaff to interfere; not because she didn't appreciate his concern for her well being, but because this was _her _responsibility. Wren had been acting like a bully and she'd decided to do something about it. This fight was a result of her actions and she always finished what she started.

"Fince, Notch," she spoke the two names tensely, while edging away from Wren, building some distance between herself and him in order to draw out the momentary respite.

The fight so far had lasted no more than a handful of seconds, not even a full minute, and the two troopers had paused long enough after her initial orders so that they were no more than a few hesitant steps away.

"Tell Gaff to keep out of this," she told them now, her tone of voice leaving no room for arguments. She could feel the conflicting emotions coming off of them. There was a hitch from Notch and pure _doubt _from Fince, but she had no time to further convince them.

Wren was back on his feet again, taking up an attack position.

Seeing the sergeant up and ready for another round with a Jedi convinced Fince and Notch that it was time to clear the area. Hastily they withdrew to the approaching group of troopers led by Gaff.

Ro couldn't risk glancing towards Gaff and his men again. She had to concentrate on Wren right now, because darned if that man hadn't managed to surprise her.

Ro recognized the position he'd taken up as one of the opening stances to Velanarian boxing and she felt her respect for Wren's fighting skills go up another notch. Velanarian boxing was notoriously difficult to master for a being with only two arms, but she neither saw nor felt any uncertainty in Wren. He knew this style and knew how to use it, which meant she would have to be careful. This was no over-confidant space pirate or burly Gamorrean bodyguard she was fighting. This was a man who knew how to do a lot of damage with his fists alone.

But he wasn't attacking. Not yet, anyway.

Apparently the blows she'd dealt him so far had been enough to somewhat break him out of his mindless rage, because she could feel him forcefully reigning in much of his temper, caging parts of the destructive storm of his fury. With his self-control partially reestablished, Wren seemed to have realized that a direct attack wouldn't work on her. She was too fast, too quick to dart in and out of his range. So he began circling her.

Ro matched his steps, making sure they remained equidistant to one another. She might have been faster than he was, but there was no denying that his muscular strength was greater than hers. If she got caught in his hold, she'd be hard pressed to escape without inflicting serious and permanent damage.

"You got a lot of nerve, _cheeka,_" he growled at her.

"Same to you," she shot back tersely, allowing her outrage at his actions to creep into her voice. "How dare you talk like that to Notch and Fince? Couldn't you see that they were grieving? Don't you care?"

"You think they'll have time to grieve over every kriffing dead clone out on the battlefield?" he retorted. He wasn't quite shouting, but the intensity behind his words made up for a lack of volume.

A spike in his rage was her only warning. Ro ducked smoothly away from the double faint and kick to her ribs, while silently promising herself to strangle whoever had taught Wren how to fight. He wasn't just fast and versed in all manner of exotic martial arts. No, he also barely telegraphed any of his movements.

Ro spun on the balls of her feet, as light as a ballerina, clouds of ash and dirt rising about her, temporarily obscuring the shifting of her feet from sight. She used the impromptu cover to spring at Wren, jabbing two straight fingers into the gap between the plates of his shoulder and back. He was fast enough to avoid the worst of her nerve-jab, but the muscles in his shoulder still spasmed in momentary reaction to her assault.

"Grief will kill them," he spat at her. "It's an effing luxury none of us can afford out on the frontlines."

He had a better feel for her range now and was back to circling, waiting for an opening in her defenses. Around them, the loose earth, ash and clouds of smoke stirred restlessly, as their fight agitated the particles on the ground and in the air. Ro was thankful for her breather mask, even if it felt cumbersome against her face. She didn't even want to know what it was that was currently flowing through the air, though she doubted it could be any more toxic than the bile coming from Wren.

"They're not on the frontlines!" she shouted. "It's something they could have afforded now," she told him, keeping one hand outstretched before her, the other at her side. Her feet moved silently over the ground.

"Kriffing look around you!" he shouted right back. "The entire bloody galaxy is a battlefield! They need to fekking well learn now, because they'll be too frakking busy being dead later!"

"That doesn't give you the right to be cruel or a bully!" The words fairly exploded out of her, because here, finally out in the open, was the exact reason why she'd slapped him in the first place.

It wasn't just the fact that he'd lain into Fince and Notch. Tensions were running high, the rescue operation had been exhausting and the sight of a former comrade burned to little more than bone ash would have been enough to push anyone past their emotional endurance. She could understand that.

But he'd said those words deliberately, knowing that they would hurt Fince and Notch the most. He'd kicked two men just as they were at their most vulnerable and that was a line Ro would not stand to see crossed. By anyone. Especially someone she'd actually come to like.

"It's how they'll learn," was what he said now, his tone unusually sombre with surprisingly little heat in it. The change in attitude startled her enough that she briefly dropped her guard.

And paid for it almost immediately.

Wren didn't rush her this time. Instead, he threw himself to the side, rolling and scooping up a fistful of dirt in the process. Ro automatically moved with him, to keep him in her line of sight, so when he jumped back on his feet she got a face full of dirt. Instinctively she closed her eyes, turning her face away even as her eyes began to tear up, trying to expel the intrusive particles. He'd managed to handicap her, but that didn't mean he'd beaten her.

The Force warned her, the tiniest of shifting of an invisible feather against the skin above her sternum.

With incremental alterations to her stance, Ro twisted her body so that his punch to her chest missed her by millimeters. Not feeling guilty in the least for relying on the Force - after all, if he fought dirty then so could she - Ro grabbed his wrist, turned inwards, twisting the arm with her, then thrust the heel of her palm beneath the rim of his helmet, forcing his head to snap backwards hard enough for the grinding of the cartilage in his neck to be audible.

He cursed, then cursed profously as Ro hooked one foot behind his leg, pulling him down and twisting him sideways at the same time. Wren landed on his back with a grunt and a puff of dirt and ash, one armed pinned beneath him.

Ro was on him in an instant, straddling his chest, keeping her hold on his other arm, pinning it to his side with an iron grip on his wrist.

But Wren wasn't admitting defeat.

He tried to buck her off and though she managed to keep her seat, he got his arm free from beneath him. His free hand came up, clutching at the fabric of her filthy shirt and he pulled hard enough for the fabric to start tearing.

_Enough! _Ro thought, at the end of her patience. Her own free hand shot out and clamped around his neck in a lateral vascular hold. She tightened her fingers, digging her forefinger and thumb into the flesh beneath his bodyglove, clamping down hard on his airway, restricting the flow of oxygen to his brain.

The effect was immediate.

Wren let go of her shirt and grasped at the hand around his neck instead, his fingers trying to find an adequate purchase in order to break her bones. He began to pant heavily, trying to draw in breath in the few seconds remaining before he would inevitably pass out.

Ro captialized on his momentary distraction and growing weakness to shake some more of the dirt out of her eyes. Then she loosened her grip slightly, just enough for him to draw in air without completely breaking her hold.

"Is that how you learned?" she asked him quietly.

"What?" he hissed out between ragged breaths. Ro wasn't sure if that was a result of her strangle hold or if he was choking on his own rage.

"Is that. How you learned?" She repeated the question, leaning slightly forwards until she could smell the burned plastoid of his armor and the sweat that had soaked into his bodyglove. "Through cruelty and by being bullied? Did your trainers rail at you when you dared to be human in the face of loss?" She had his attention now. In fact, he was lying so still beneath her, he could have been made of granite."Is that why you're the way you are?" she asked softly, making sure the other troopers couldn't hear. "Are you just imitating the people who taught you?"

The reaction this last question elicited from him was profound. Wren drew in a quick, sharp breath…then simply shut down.

The change almost made her reel, it was so sudden. Before, there'd been this crackling electrical storm of rage and anger.

Now?

It wasn't…_nothing_ exactly. Unless dead, all sentient creatures emitted some type of emotional aura. But at this moment, he'd pushed his emotions so far down that it was almost as if they were nonexistent. There was still the faint impression of anger - Ro guessed that particular emotion never quite left him - but it was so subdued and distant that it was more like static than the powerful, heady lightning storm she was used to feeling from him. And this anger felt old. So old, that it had seeped into the very fibers of his body, becoming almost indistinguishable from his core essence.

"Get off of me," he said, his voice strained and flat and curiously toneless.

"Let go of me first," she told him.

The dark slits of his visor moved to regard the fingers still clamped around the wrist of her hand around his neck. Slowly, finger by finger, as if he had to concentrate on the task, Wren released her. When he did, Ro released her own grip on him and got up. She paused and, after a moment of thought, stuck out one hand to help him back on his feet.

Wren slid a glance at the hand as if it were something utterly detestable. Ignoring her offer of assistance, he got back up on his feet, his helmet resolutely turned away from her. His armor, Ro noted, was even filthier than before. The only things still clearly visible were the twin crimson lightning bolts running down the sides of his helmet.

_I probably look like a Fondorian mud puppy myself, _she thought and fought the urge to touch her hair. That was a disaster that could wait till later. For now, she still had bigger gooberfish to fry. Like the trooper getting ready to turn his back on her.

"No you don't," she told him and grabbed him by the arm. The anger lashed out instantly, a single quick lightning bolt of rage. His arm came up again, cocked to deliver another punch. This time, Ro didn't move aside. She remained steady, her eyes boring into his behind his helmet.

They remained that way for what felt like a small eternity, the only noise audible being Wren's fury induced heavy breathing and the creak of his tendons as he tightened his cocked fist to the point where Ro thought he might just break his own bones. She could feel stabs of fresh _rage_ flickering through his emotional static field and with them she got the clear sense of a conflict broiling within him. He was _angry _and that anger was slowly building itself back up into the destructive wrath of a few moments ago and with it came an irrational urge to lash out. He wanted and did not want to, lash out at_ her_ specifically.

Ro felt in him instinct battling with rational thinking and wondered just how long he'd been dealing with this explosive rage. She wanted to help him, wanted to reach out with her senses and smooth away all this turmoil and the pain he was putting himself through. But he was too wrapped up in this emotionally ruinous cycle and his own battle for control to be receptive to her influence, so she used words instead of the Force.

"I've noticed you like to do that," she told him. "Walk away from people. Well guess what, cookie; you ain't allowed to walk away from me. Not till we're done."

"We were done the moment you thought you could fekking tell me what to do." The snarl was back in his voice, but Ro could tell that the force from before was not behind the words. What she'd said to him earlier had really shaken him up.

_Probably that's why he hasn't thrown that punch, yet, _she thought, eyeing his still cocked arm warily.

"I'm not telling you what to do," she corrected him firmly. "I'm just keeping you from acting like an utter _choobies_."

He finally dropped his raised fist, but leaned in close to her, close enough so that she could see her own reflection in the black visor. His voice as low as an akk dog's growl. "I don't kriffing need anyone, _cheeka._" he told her. "Not to correct my behavior, not to watch my back and certainly not to make sure that I don't hurt the tender feelings of some chuff-sucking shiny. If you can't take harsh reality, then you might as well just suck laser right now, because this galaxy isn't made for heroes or people who are constantly trying to look out for others."

It was, perhaps, one of the saddest revelations Ro had ever heard and there was a galaxy of remembered _pain _behind those words, enough to rip at her own heart.

"What happened to you?" She whispered the question, her throat closing up as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. How could anyone bear such pain alone and keep standing?

Another long, tense silence, but Ro knew even before he tore his arm out of her grip that he wouldn't answer her. The _pain _disappeared behind his crackling wall of anger. Instinctively, Ro reached out with the Force, trying to soothe that anger with waves of _warmth _and _compassion. _

"It's none of your effing business," he told her curtly. Then he snarled as he felt her empathic touch. "And keep the _haran_ out of my head, you _di'kutla jet…_" he stopped abruptly, his entire body going rigid. Wren emitted a sudden blast of _self-loathing, surprise_ and_ anger _at himself and mixed in with all of that, the tiniest sliver of _fear. _

Ro had no idea what language he'd just lapsed into. The words held absolutely no meaning for her, though it was clear that they did for Wren. And not a good one, either.

His usage of the strange words - no doubt insults, knowing him - had felt instinctual to her, as if they weren't something he consciously had to think about before using.

_But now he feels like someone who's just betrayed some huge secret, _she thought. _And he hates himself for using that language. _She couldn't understand it, any of it. She no more understood how uttering a few words in an alien tongue could so profoundly shake someone, then she understood the source of all the anger and loathing he felt for the world and the people around him. When it came right down to it, Ro had to admit she didn't really understand Wren at all.

There was a sudden _snap_ as a piece of burned wood broke beneath an armored boot and both she and Wren were rudely reminded of the rest of the world. Perhaps that was for the best, she thought as she watched Wren take a few steps away from her, as if distance could somehow erase the last few minutes and words. The scene that had been forming between them probably wouldn't have ended well, anyway.

Ro took her eyes off of Wren for the first time since their fight, glancing towards the direction of the noise. It was Gaff, his boot poised over a broken piece of wood, his stance making it clear that his interruption had been no accident. Gaff was radiating enough tension to make the air around him feel brittle and though she couldn't see his face, she was pretty sure he was glaring turbolasers at Wren. He also had his blaster drawn and held at the ready, something that made her really nervous.

Behind Gaff stood the rest of the squad. The sight and feel of those troopers almost brought a wan smile to her face. They felt a little like bewildered ducklings trying to make sense of what had just happened. They were trying not to stare too obviously and failing miserably at it.

_We must have been quite the spectacle, _she thought wryly. She had a distinct feeling that probably Jedi and clone troopers weren't supposed to get into a fistfight with one another.

Seeing that he had her attention, Gaff came over to her, carefully putting a hand on her shoulder. "Is everything all right, Ro?" he asked her solicitously. Ro managed a smile for him, though really, she felt a little bit like crying. It had been a very bad, very long day, but she had the feeling that if she burst into tears now, Wren would likely end up on the wrong side of a firing squad. And though he might be a total jerk, he didn't deserve being used for target practice.

"I'm fine, thank you," she told him, though it was probably the biggest lie she'd ever told. She was so far from fine, she and fine weren't even in the same galaxy anymore. In the aftermath of her blow-out with Wren, Ro just felt wrung out and hollow.

She glanced at Wren, but he neither acknowledged her nor Gaff. His head was turned away, as if he were gazing off into the distance. Automatically she reached out with the Force, but was instantly repelled by that distant, dense feeling of static. Wren had retreated so far from her influence as to be utterly unreachable. He might as well have been on the far side of the Outer Rim Territories instead of only a few meters away.

Seeing her glance towards the still figure of the sergeant, Gaff deliberately stepped between her and Wren, cutting the trooper off from her line of sight. He gave her a careful once-over, trying to discern any visible injuries. Then, hesitantly, as if half-expecting her to reject the gesture, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's good to hear," he told her quietly.

And now Ro found a whole different reason for her to nearly start bawling like a youngling. Because Gaff's genuine concern for her, the sheer _warm kindness _of him was such a change from the emotional battering she'd endured this entire day. She just wanted to lean her head against someone's shoulder and have herself a really good cry and she had a feeling that Gaff would rise to the occasion splendidly. But tears wouldn't be helpful right now, no more than words spoken in anger had been before.

She'd let her emotions get the better of her with Wren and look where it had led her. Better not risk another disaster with Gaff.

So instead Ro dug deep into the reserves of her strength and managed to smile at him with unrestrained warmth and gratitude. This was a very sweet and considerate man and he deserved that much from her.

Gaff broke the moment hesitantly, almost reluctantly, by clearing his throat and moving back into 'commander-mode'. A part of her nearly cried out as he removed his hand from her shoulder, but she stamped down on the impulse hard. Gaff had the right idea. It was time to return to the matter at hand, not be selfish and demand more tactile reassurance and emotional coddling. She could get all the coddling she could want when she was back on Ansion with this case firmly closed.

"I've just received a transmission from Captain Kase that I thought would interest you," he told her politely.

Ro rubbed at her face with one hand, using the gesture as a means of both hiding her disappointment that it was back to business as usual and to force her own tired mind back to work. "I haven't met Captain Kase yet, have I?"

"No. Captain Kase is my second-in-command and normally in charge of security at Shenio Mining HQ. I've asked him to take over command of Eyat Base during the extent of this…." He looked about the blackened and destroyed ruins of the former shopping street. "Tragedy."

"'Kay," Ro mumbled, rubbing at her brow. Her skin felt greasy and all too hot. She'd need another shower and soon, before she could reenter polite society. _Seems like I'm spending more time either rolling in ash or under water than on investigating this mess, _she thought unhappily. She was also trying very hard not to glance at the figure of the silent trooper just beyond Gaff.

"And what did Captain Kase have to say?"

Gaff cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Wren, but the other man remained silent and distant, making no effort to insert himself into the conversation.

"Captain Kase believes he's found a witness," he told Ro.

Ro's head shot up at the news, her eyes sharp. "A witness? Is he sure?"

"Positive. Captain Kase," Gaff tapped a finger against his blaster; a nervous habit, Ro thought. "Captain Kase does not draw conclusions idly, nor is he prone to impulsive actions. If he says he has found a witness, then I am confidant that he has."

Ro drew in a deep breath through her breath mask, feeling her heart give a little lurch. If that was true, then they just might have gotten their first really lucky break. Though looking about her at all the destruction and death, it was hard for her to believe that anyone could have seen something useful about the explosion and lived to tell about it.

_You're being negative, Ro, _she admonished herself. _There's always a chance; always the possibility of something good in even the worst tragedy. Maybe this time, it'll be a witness who'll help stop this monster. _

Ro nodded in confirmation to what Gaff had told her as well as to her own thoughts. Really, this pessimism wasn't like her at all.

_Pull it together, Ro, _she thought at herself furiously. _One catastrophe is no excuse to give up and crawl into a black hole. Get yourself back under control. Just think of what Master Adriav would say if she saw you now._

The thought of her former Master's reaction was enough to make her wince. Master Adriav, a Zeltron and therefore no stranger to the power of emotions, had had little tolerance for a loss of control on the part of an empath. Were she here now, no doubt she'd be lecturing Ro about the dangers of the dark side and the damage she was capable of inflicting on others if she wasn't aware of her actions every waking second.

_I don't know about the dark side, _she thought, casting a weary eye at ruined Drezd'any Street. _But I think she was right about the damage part. _Her eyes lingered on the still form of Wren. _I really put my foot in it this time, all the way up to my behind. _

The thought made her close her eyes, feeling heartsick through and through. And there was a nasty headache beginning to build up behind her temples.

She was so caught up in trying to alleviate that headache with the Force before it had a chance to get really started that it took her a while to realize that someone was gently shaking her and calling her name.

"…o? Ro? Is everything alright? Should I call a medic?"

Ro's eyes fluttered open and she quickly covered the gauntleted hand on her shoulder with her own, as much to reassure Gaff as to prolong the contact with his comfortingly solid presence.

"No medic needed," she told him and mustered up another smile for him, only to remember that, of course, he couldn't actually see her smiling at him through the breath mask. She was such a dolt.

So instead she gave his fingers a friendly squeeze and tried to lighten the mood with a half-hearted joke. "I was just thinking." she said. "And though that's notoriously dangerous, it's never endangered my health. Well, except that one time on Kor Utoradii."

He cocked his head at her in curiosity, but she cut off the question before he could ask it. "Believe me, you don't want to know. Now, Captain Kase," she said, making an effort to bring them both back to the matter at hand. "I'd like to go see him if that's alright? If you don't need me here, that is?"

Gaff shook his head vigorously. "No, no. I mean…eh…your aid would always be appreciated, but the reason I told you about Captain Kase's comm call was specifically because I thought you might wish to interrogate the witness." He paused, then added frankly, though with a tint of embarrassment, "You have so much more experience in this than any of us."

Ro's eyes flicked towards Wren of their own volition, but his figure was still mostly obscured by Gaff's solid body. "I'm not so sure about that," she said, but quietly enough that Gaff didn't hear.

"If you'd like, Ro," Gaff continued, "I could escort you back to the base?"

There was a world of meaning behind that question and Ro felt a rising bit of _hope _come from the commander, like the smell of the first crocuses of spring. Gaff was deliberately _not _looking at the other member of this impromptu group, but Ro found her eyes once more straying towards where she knew Wren was standing. Should she insist on him accompanying them? He'd proven very insightful, intelligent and resourceful during the admittedly brief time she'd been here. And she liked him, his temper and earlier display of bullying not withstanding. He wasn't a bad person; she knew that. She _felt _that.

Carefully, she opened herself to the Force, letting the impressions around her wash over her, tightening her focus imperceptibly on Wren. Not actively reaching out; just listening to his emotional state. But all she got was another face full of static that nearly burned her mental fingers almost as soon as she touched it through the Force. Ro hastily withdrew back into her body, fighting the urge to hunch a shoulder defensively. If he'd shouted at her he couldn't have made it clearer that right now, he didn't want anything to do with her.

And then there was Gaff.

Ro turned towards the commander, feeling that slight tinge of _hope _coupled with _anticipation _still emanating form him as he awaited her answer. He'd meant the offer kindly, as a show of support, but there was no way he could hide the fact from her that he was also hoping for something _more _to come of this, though she had the distinct impression that he wasn't certain what that more might be.

Her head swam a little with the tangled mess she was trying to navigate through. Was it wrong of her to accept Gaff's offer? Would it give him the wrong idea? Would she be leading him on? Would it be more prudent of her to decline and ask for someone else to drive her back to the base or would she be hurting him even more that way?

She didn't want to hurt him, but she was aware that she was going to have to talk with him at some point about why he shouldn't be hoping for anything but friendship from her.

_But not now, _she thought. _Not here, with death around and the whole world watching and with ten dead troopers at his feet. Later, when it's just us. _

"I'd like that," she told Gaff and meant it.

She could feel his pleasure at her response, though his body language betrayed none of it. He simple inclined his head politely at her and extended one hand towards the edge of the destruction corridor, back to where there was frenzied life, a waiting speeder and more work ahead for her.

Ro did cast one last glance back at Wren as she walked away, feeling something inside of her crumble just a little bit.

He looked very alone, standing there in a field of ash and broken, burned-out buildings. She wanted to rush back to him, throw her arms around him and make sure that he would be alright. She wanted to help.

But as much as she wanted to do so, she knew it wasn't the right time. It simply wasn't up to her. Wren obviously needed more time to cool off, to collect himself again. Whatever had snapped his control earlier, it wasn't over yet. And as much as she would like to help him, he needed to want her help first. And it was obvious that he wasn't ready for that yet. As she walked away from Drezd'any Street, Ro had to wonder if he ever would be.

* * *

Wren gazed off into the distance, his visor fixed on the destruction around him, but he saw nothing of it. What he saw instead was a pristine city, with clinically white walls and lights so bright, they'd often hurt his eyes. And he didn't smell the stink of burned flesh and heat-broken permacrete, but he smelled ocean brine and antiseptic.

"_Is that how you learned?...Through cruelty and by being bullied? Did your trainers rail at you when you dared to be human in the face of loss?... Are you just imitating the people who taught you?" _

Her questions riccochetted through his skull like a small caliber slug. He hadn't liked hearing those questions; didn't like the memories they brought back.

…_.Jango Fett staring down at him, his eyes cool, his face impassive. "You can hate me all you want, Alpha-20. It doesn't change a thing." _

…_Fett dragging him out of his sleep bunker, the right side of his mouth burning and throbbing from where the flesh had been cut, while his cheeks were still wet with tears. "Tears are wasted. You're a soldier and soldiers have no time for tears. Now get out of there and get moving." The words had been followed by a swift kick to his backside._

…_Fett's derisive voice, mocking his efforts after a particularly hard exercise, "Your mission objective was to bring back the data crystal, not save the others' _shebs. _The mission comes first, Alpha-20. Always." _

And in-between those flashes of his past were newer images.

_...Notch's hunched shoulders as he walked back to his position in the squad…_

…_Kyler's hurt and resentful face after Wren had humiliated him during training…_

…_Gaff's tight-lipped face as Wren flaunted his authority and derided him in front of his men…_

Wren had been assigned to F Company to give the rookies the benefit of his experiences. But was he doing that? Or was he simply imitating his teacher? _Am I as bad as Fett now? _He wondered and felt his fist clench, while sweat, cold and clammy, began to trickle down his face.

The look in Ro's teal eyes as she'd slapped him was a pretty good answer. She'd seemed angry, but also disappointed. As if she'd expected him to act...no, to _be _better than that. Better than a man who took out his rages on others and gave no allowances for anything.

His thumb ran over his gloved knuckles in agitation as he followed that line of thought, despite himself. He had a feeling it would lead him somewhere he wouldn't like.

Wren knew he'd lost it back there with Fince and Notch and the little Jedi nuisance. The question was: why?

He wasn't sure. Maybe because Fince and Notch still had each other, while both of his brothers had died even before they'd gotten the chance to leave Kamino. Or maybe it'd been that moment of kindness from Ro; that reminder that there'd never been anyone who'd put a soothing hand on him when his stomach had recoiled in horror or when he'd seen a corpse wearing his face for the first time.

He just didn't know and he only cared in a small and distant part of his mind. What he did care about was this: he didn't want to be like Fett. Ever. That was why he'd sworn off of anything even remotely connected to being a Mandalorian; it was the only thing Fett had ever given him that he could reject. And now, for the first time in nearly three years, he'd lost himself enough to lapse into that accursed language. Fett's language.

A spark of the old anger flared to life within him, penetrating some of the gloom of his thoughts.

It was all _her _fault. That insipid little Jedi twit and her pushing, prodding ways and…

_It's not her fault that you treat others just like Fett treated you, _another, more rational part of his mind whispered. Wren ground his teeth. That wasn't true. He wasn't acting like Fett. He wasn't anything like Fett. He was…He was…

He felt his eyes drifting sideways along the image feed of his HUD as if pulled by some invisible force, until he could see Ro and Gaff in the wrap-around vision. Well, he couldn't actually see Ro; Gaff had positioned himself squarely between her and Wren, but he could hear her voice.

"….never endangered my health. Well, except that one time on Kor Utoradii." There was the burgeoning sound of laughter behind those words, as if the memory was some joke on herself.

Wren listened more intently to the conversation, his mind grasping desperately at the diversion. Ro was going back to the base to interrogate some witness. And Gaff was going along with her. There was no missing the pathetic hope in the commander's words and Wren felt his lips curl in disgust. The scar at the right corner of his mouth stretched uncomfortably with the motion in a way it hadn't in years. There was also no missing the warmth in Ro's voice when she talked to the rookie commander.

And then he became aware that they were _leaving _and leaving without him.

Wren felt his muscles tense at the realization and he found himself waiting for Ro to call him over, to invite him to join her despite Gaff's protestations. He squashed that part of himself ruthlessly, grinding it down with a mental heel as his pride growled a protest. He wasn't some eager little lapdog awaiting his Jedi master's whistle. And he was most certainly not like Gaff, pathetically earnest in his attempts to impress and please some slip of a girl. He didn't need her.

He gathered the anger growing inside of him, throwing it around him like a familiar blanket. It banished his thoughts from earlier, let him focus on the here and now. The past had no place on Gaftikar and he didn't want to think about its hold over him.

When his sight focused again, he saw Ro walking away from him, her long hair swinging slightly with each stride. She glanced back at him, once, but he couldn't decipher the emotions in her teal eyes. Regret, maybe? Disgust? Or worse, pity?

Then white plastoid entered his field of vision and he found Gaff's yellow-striped faceplate only inches away from his.

"I could have you court-martialed for what you did," the commander hissed at him. "Luckily for you, Ro isn't pressing any charges."

Wren narrowed his eyes at the way Gaff pronounced her name, like it was something fragile and precious. He snorted in derision. Gaff was delusional if he thought to waste his time with mooning over some Jedi _cheeka. _And there was nothing _fragile _about her. The ache in his side and his neck was a testament to that.

Gaff must have heard the mocking sound, because the commander did something he'd never done in the face of two months of near constant antagonization from Wren; he got physical.

For the second time in an hour, Wren was grabbed by his armor – his spaulder this time, since Gaff had several inches on Ro – and hauled close.

"You listen to me, _Sergeant,_" Gaff said, putting extra emphasis on Wren's rank. "If you lay another hand on her, I'll shoot you myself for seditious actions and endangering the well-fare of a Jedi. Do. I make myself. Clear?"

Wren kept his silence, partially out of astonishment and partially out of sheer obstinacy and contrariness. The two clones stared at each other through their dark visors for several seconds, while ash and heavy dirt came to settle around them. With a sound of disgust, Gaff shoved Wren away.

Wren, expecting the action, did not stumble, but moved two steps backwards with the momentum.

"Your orders are to remain here and to oversee the continued investigation until Commissioner Gor'Dan and his people take over," Gaff said, his voice now stiff with formality. "Afterwards, you are under the authority of Lieutenant Wess, until such a time when he no longer requires your services. You will then report back to base and return to your regular duties." A pause from Gaff as the commander waited for some snide comment from the sergeant. Wren kept his silence and Gaff went on. "Captain Kase has brought a number of his men with him to the base. I want you to take this opportunity and train his men as per your orders by GAR HQ, seeing as there's no telling when we'll get back to the regular rotation cycle. Do you copy, Sergeant?" The tone with which the words were spoken indicated the answer had better be in the affirmative.

Wren drew in a breath, his lips pulling back from his teeth, ready for a fight…

"_Are you just imitating the people who taught you?" _Her voice was almost mocking him now as it echoed through his head.

"I…copy," Wren bit out.

"Good." Gaff squared his shoulders, which he'd hunched almost unconsciously in preparation for a physical confrontation. "Do not think I'll forget this, Sergeant," he told Wren. "Your actions will have consequences and this time, your skills will not save you."

With that, the commander turned his back on Wren and jogged across the ruined plain that had been Drezd'any Street, hurrying to catch up with Ro. Wren watched him go, saw him come alongside Ro, matching his strides to hers. Carefully, as if afraid he might break her, Gaff placed his hand on the small of her back. And she let him.

Wren hated himself at that moment. Hated himself with a passion he hadn't felt since that aweful night when, in a fit of uncontrollable, berserker rage, he had killed a commando and fellow clone with his bare hands. Out of long habit, he glanced down at his gloved hands. But there was no blood. There was only white, scuffed plastoid covered in ash and filth and soot; remnants of the fire.

He looked about him, at the destroyed and burned-out buildings, at the pools of melted and re-hardened durasteel, at the filthy hot air and the armored men laboring among the debris, their images slightly hazy from the effects of superheated air beginning to cool.

It was a sight he had seen many times, with dozens of variations on more battlefields than he cared to count. But he'd never felt like this before. He'd never felt as if his insides matched the destruction on the outside. He'd never felt like he was part of the ruined landscape.

The thought occurred to him that maybe Thrush had had the right of it all along. Maybe it was better to end it, quickly and painlessly, before the bodies and the wreckage of your decisions started to pile up around you, creating a pit you couldn't climb back out of.

But then his survival instinct kicked in, thrashing and screaming at him not to be a fool. He was ARC-bred, an Alpha-class clone and no Alpha simply lay down and died because of a lost fight and some words. Words meant nothing. The little Jedi meant nothing. What did she know, anyway? Nothing. She'd never been to Kamino. She'd probably never had someone die in her arms or have a brother taken away from her. She knew nothing about grief and hurt and the terrible knowledge that right now didn't matter, because tomorrow, you'd have to do it all over again and the only that changed were the tally numbers.

His anger was a justifiable one, the one thing that would carry him through this damned war he'd been bred for.

But right now, with his hands slightly raised before him to check for bloodstains almost three years in the past, Wren felt the ash of the smoldering ruins about him coat his tongue and throat. Even his anger couldn't burn that taste away.


	19. Chapter 18: The Substance of a Man

**The Substance of a Man**

"_Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist." _

_G. K. Chesterton_

* * *

_Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (25 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

As promised, Gaff brought her back to the base after a quick conference with Wess, Commissioner Gor'Dan and the chief of the fire brigade. He commissioned one of the landspeeders the clones had used to arrive at Drezd'any Street and had, with a light touch against her back, directed her to the passenger seat of the vehicle. He'd even opened the door for her. The entire act had been so courteous and considerate that Ro had bitten her lip against any claims on the steering yoke. She loved to drive and fly, but how could she possibly go against that much old-fashioned chivalry? And besides, his good manners and grace were soothing after her confrontation with Wren and the violent, seething emotions that had permeated Drezd'any Street. She could forego driving if it meant she'd get a few minutes rest and the chance to bask, just a little, in the kindness and concern Gaff had been emanating since her fight with Wren.

So Ro let Gaff take the wheel and she spent the ride back to the base with her head leaned back and her eyes closed, trying to use the threads of positive emotions surrounding Gaff in the Force to alleviate her headache and the churning of her stomach. Guiltily, she ignored the tremors of _pain _and _grief _radiating from him as well. At this point, she simply didn't have the strength do more than _not _broadcast her own feelings. The last thing Gaff, or anyone for that matter, needed was an unhappy empath with her shields down.

That was the trouble with being a Force-empath. The same ability that made her a good investigator also made it downright painful to be physically present at a fresh crime scene. Though gone, the people who had been murdered or harmed had left enough of an emotional imprint in the Force around them to be clearly detectable by an empath of Ro's strength. And the more violent the crime, the stronger the impressions left over. And what had happened at Drezd'any Street had been very, very violent.

It meant her own naturally buoyant personality was currently trying to reassert itself against an onslaught of strong, negative empathic energy and her physical exertions were making that struggle even more difficult. Ro felt stretched thin, like honey over too much toast. Her body and mind ached and if she were to attempt to comfort Gaff at this moment, she'd likely only dump her own misery atop of his. No, better to gather her strength for the interrogation. For the moment, she could tell that Gaff was distracting himself from his grief, discreetly occupying his mind with other matters. It would have to do.

Ro used this small respite to mentally go through the events of the day again, this time picking through her memories of the Force, from the time she'd felt that first disturbance at the base to just before her fight with Wren. Had she sensed anything like that brief glimpse just before the residential bomb had detonated? If she had, she couldn't tell. Drezd'any Street had been far too violent an event for her to have sensed anything but the distress of the people around her. The bomber could have been right in front of her and she would never have been able to pick him out. It was a very frustrating thought.

At times like these, Ro almost regretted the independency of her life. Her mentors - Altis and Eda and Shiv - believed her to be competent enough to handle her cases on her own, despite the fact that she was still only a Padawan. But right now, Ro could have really used another Force-sensitive at her side, who might have been able to pick up some of her slack. Someone less empathic would probably have been less distracted by the emotional turmoil in the Force, generated by the catastrophe.

Shiv and Eda had always insisted on the merits of a partner and right now, Ro could not have agreed with them more. But it wasn't as if a partner just fell out of the sky. She'd tried to work together with some of her fellow Altisians in the past, but it had been…less than successful.

More often than not, people thought Ro to be a friendly and kind girl and she was, but after a while, they also found her exhausting and frustrating. Her antics, her way of talking would lead them to think her silly, incapable of taking anything serious and frequently they would get frustrated by being unable to follow her thinking.

Master Altis had the patience to endure her, but he was needed to lead the Altisians, whether he saw it that way or not. Eda and Shiv thought of her as a daughter and loved her, but they were retired from active hunting and Ro couldn't bring herself to ask them to break their peace for her. Mostly, because she knew that they would.

No, she thought, there was no way around it. She'd just have to do the work of two. Maybe some day the Force would lead her to someone who could keep up with her, but until then…until then she would go on alone.

While Ro thought and rested, Gaff spent the trip back mostly talking about Captain Kase. Ro cracked one eye open from time to time, watching rather distractedly as Gaff explained again and again that Captain Kase was an excellent officer, a man one could depend on and a first-rate, responsible second-in-command. In fact, Gaff was so careful to expound on the captain's good qualities, that Ro began to get suspicious.

_Me thinks he doth praises a wheeze too much, _she thought and wondered what character flaw the man could possibly have that would require this much prep work on the part of his commanding officer.

She found out soon enough.

* * *

Captain Kase was waiting for them at the entrance to the base. Though Gaff had told her that, like all of F Company, Gaftikar was Captain Kase's first posting, the man managed to radiate a dignity and reserve that made him appear older than his commanding officer. Gaff had a pleasant, open and earnest face and though he could be a little stiff, Ro thought he was simply someone who equated following the rules with doing good. Captain Kase had a face about as open as the vaults of the Dressian Kiolsh Merchant Bank on Mygeeto.

Still, Ro gave him her friendliest, sunniest smile. "Captain Kase, what a pleasure to meet you. I like your name. Good to have you on the case."

He didn't even so much as twitch an eyebrow at her admittedly rather bad pun.

As if she hadn't spoken, Captain Kase gave her and Gaff a stiff salute and a nod of greeting. "Commander Gaff, Commander Arhen, welcome back to Eyat Base."

Ro grimaced. _Here we go again. _"Captain Kase, please. As I've already explained to Gaff, I'm no commander. I'm not _in _the Grand Army." She smiled again, hoping to elicit some facial reaction from the stoic trooper. "Call me Ro. It rhymes, you know."

She waited for the ubiquitous question, "Rhymes with what?" but it never came. Instead, what she got was a very studiously blank gaze and a lesson on GAR regulations that left her head spinning a little.

"With all due respect, ma'am," Captain Kase said.

Ro pulled a face. _Ma'am. Force, could it get any worse?_

"According to regulation 23, subsection 5, paragraph 1.2b, all Jedi are to be addressed by proper rank and title at all times in accordance with their station assigned to them by the Jedi High Council of the Jedi Order, stationed on Coruscant. I.e. all Padawans are to be accorded the rank and title of commander within the Grand Army of the Republic, equal in status to the rank of a commander of both the navy and the army. All Knights, and Masters are to be accorded the rank of general and all members of the Jedi High Council are to be addressed with the title of High General. Those," and he paused for the first time in his monologue, "are the rules, ma'am."

So not only stiff as a board, but also pedantic. Ro threw Gaff a dubious look, but saw that, although the commander had correctly guessed that she and his second-in-command would be at odds, he did not wholly disagree with the captain.

"Sooo," and she deliberately dragged out the word, "all that's really written down somewhere?"

"Yes, sir," Captain Kase answered her smartly. "If you would like to double-check, I can forward you all seven of the Grand Army's regulation manuals, but I assure you that my recitation was verbatim."

Ro raised one eyebrow at that. Well, a hunk of ironwood he might be, but she had to give the captain points for working that vocabulary of his. She hadn't heard any of the other clones talk like one of her professors before.

"I'll take your word for it, Kase," she told him.

The captain's face didn't change, but Ro got the general impression of a frown when he said, "With all due respect Commander Arhen, as I am according you the courtesy and consideration of referring to you by your proper rank and title, I would appreciate a reciprocal of the gesture. I can assure you that I have earned the rank of captain and am more than capable of performing the duties that befall me as a consequence."

At this point, Gaff hastily intervened. "I know that Ro meant no disrespect, Captain Kase," he assured the other man. Kase shot Gaff a dubious glance of his own at the commander's usage of her name. It was the first facial twitch she'd seen the man give so far. Gaff went on, ignoring the silently implied disapproval of his second. "Jedi investigator Ro Arhen," Gaff went on in a more formal mien, "is not used to working so closely with the military. Her special skills have, so far, been applied to keeping order among the civilian populace."

Ro had to do a double take at Gaff's syntax. While he had been painfully correct with her at first, he had never been _that _correct in his speech and address.

But she could see that his change in attitude served to ease some of the stiffness from Captain Kase. While the man didn't even so much as relax by an iota physically, Ro could feel a lightening of his emotional aura. Captain Kase was satisfied with Gaff's explanation and soothed by his commander's correct attitude. Ro found she had to reconsider Gaff. She'd seen Wren walk all over him for so long, that she had forgotten that to have come this far, he must be able to exert some type of control over his people. Gaff _knew _how to handle himself and the men under his command. It was just Wren who stumped him. Which was fine, considering he stumped Ro as well.

Captain Kase seemed to be satisfied that all introductory courtesies had been observed, because he next gestured at the open base door. "With your permission, Commanders, I will brief you about the witness on our way to the holding cells."

"Of course, Captain," Gaff said, but both men waited politely for Ro to precede them.

Ro did so, suppressing a small sigh as she walked into the grey prefab structure of the base. She would have liked to have taken at least a few minutes to wash most of the grime off of her face in the 'fresher. _Fat chance of that,, _she thought, rubbing the exposed skin of her arms in disgust. She felt filthy and she knew she must reek like a rancor, but at least she'd been able to dispense with the breather mask. The cumbersome thing had kept her breathing during the emergency, but Ro was acutely aware of how ridiculous she must look with the bottom half of her face clean and pink and the top as grey and dirty as the skin of an Umbaran after a mud bath.

A gloved hand came into her field of vision, holding a small packet. Ro looked up to see Gaff – who had taken his helmet off and clipped it to his belt – looking at her, his brown eyes concerned. Ro looked down at the packet and saw that they were sanitation wipes, the type used in medkits. With a grateful smile she took the package and began wiping her face, neck, hands and arms clean as they walked down the corridors, Captain Kase catching them up.

"As ordered sir, I came to Eyat Base with six squads and as soon as we arrived, I implemented the proper procedures to instigate the temporary change of command during this Case Red situation."

"Six squads?" Ro asked and ignored Kase's sharp look at her interruption. "That means…" she cast a quick look at Gaff, seeking his confirmation, "sixty men, right?"

"Fifty-nine," Kase corrected, even as Gaff gave her an affirmative nod. Seeing the gesture, Kase elaborated, "I lead one of the squads. It is tradition not to count officers among the regular men when giving a troop count."

"'Kay," Ro said, "but didn't that get you into a lot of trouble with that Lucara woman? I mean, she certainly put up a holler when you wanted more men for security at Cebz's speech, right?" This last question she directed at Gaff.

"That is true," Gaff admitted. "Director Lucara was less than cooperative on the issue."

"However," Kase went on, "in a declared state of emergency, planetary security's primary concern is the preservation of life and the conservation of order. As F Company has been designated as Gaftikar's planetary security force and as the terrorist attack today has been official declared a direct threat to the population and the planet's order, the commander was well within his right to draft all available forces for the current emergency and countermand all civilian objections to his actions."

"Also," Gaff explained, "Shenio Mining is not a Gaftikari business, nor does it employ locals. Director Lucara does not have the authority to intervene in a GAR maneuver when it applies directly to our duties to the citizens of this planet."

Ro played with a lock of her grimy hair, thinking that over. It sounded to her like a conflict of interests waiting to happen, but decided against voicing her concerns. One crisis at a time; she had enough on her plate at the moment without worrying about what might happen in the future.

"I understand," she said formally, then turned towards Kase and gave him a polite bow. "I apologize Captain, I do believe I interrupted you. Please continue." Just because she and pedantic didn't mix, did not mean she could not be nice and respectful towards Kase. Gaff clearly respected and liked his second, despite the man's coolness and it hadn't escaped Ro's attention how quick Kase had been to come to his commander's defense. She and Kase might never be able to work well together, but it was clear that he and Gaff had reached some type of cordiality, if not downright friendship.

Captain Kase nodded at her and Ro could sense that her show of formality had alleviated some of the tension he'd been radiating towards her.

"Yes, Commander. As I was saying, I instigated the transfer of command, then ordered my men out on patrols. Reports were coming in of lootings and panics and the Eyat police force requested our assistance."

Ro felt a little pleased at that news. It seemed that her talk with Commissioner Gor'Dan had truly achieved something. That was nice to know.

"Epsilon Squad was patrolling grid coordinates 8, when they spotted a small group of pre-adolescents a block away from the cordoned off area. Sergeant Pratt intended to send them out of the danger zone, when he noticed that they all displayed distinctive signs of charring on their clothes, the origins of which could only have come from the youths being in the near vicinity of the fire. On closer inspection, some of the children also had minor burns. Sergeant Pratt attempted to apprehend the group, but they ran. All but one escaped. The boy's clothing exhibited traces of detonite on them and his injuries are concurrent with those suffered by the victims of yesterday's attack. It is clear that he was in the area during the time of the explosion and could prove himself to be a valuable witness. He is awaiting further questioning in the holding cells, sirs."

Ro came to a halt so fast, that the two men took three more steps before they realized she was no longer following. Both clones turned as one towards her, their expressions equally puzzled.

For a moment, Ro didn't know what to say, let alone do. Breathing deeply, fighting to keep an even tone, she asked, "A boy, you say? Just how old is this boy?"

Captain Kase looked down his nose at her, as if he regarded her question as a complete waste of time. "His id chip claims he is nine standard years old, Commander."

Ro put her hands on her hips, one of her filth-encrusted boots beginning to tap against the floor angrily, in perfect imitation of her adoptive mother, Eda.

"Let me get this straight. You put an injured, nine-year-old boy into a holding cell like a common criminal?" Her throat tightened in anger and she had work at keeping herself from exploding. _Calm, Ro, _she reminded herself. _This isn't you, it's just that you've had a long day and you're in emotional rebound. It's not his fault. He's just doing what he's been trained to do. _

But that barely helped her control the urge to scratch Kase's eyes out when he coolly informed her, "GAR regulation 104, paragraph 65, subsection k4.01b states that all suspected of acts of terrorism are to be restrained and detained until such a time when a credentialed Republic interrogator can question him, her or it."

Ro took another few deep breaths, gathered what remained of her patience and said, "That may be true, but those are army rules. This is a little boy we're talking about and he's a civilian. He doesn't fall under GAR jurisdiction and you've just violated about twelve really good laws, not to mention displayed a woeful lack of common sense." Her voice had risen a little towards the end and now both men stood silent, frozen by her outburst; Gaff out of surprise and Kase out of injured pride.

With a weary sigh, Ro blew her sweat-soaked bangs out of her eyes and asked in a more subdued tone of voice, "Did you at least contact his parents and have a medic look at him?"

"No," was Kase's curt reply.

"Captain," Gaff said, the title not quite spoken as a warning, but a clear reminder nonetheless that the captain was addressing a commanding officer.

Kase straightened his back in automatic response to that tone. With a look at his commander, he told Ro, "The boy has refused all medical treatment; has, indeed become hysterical at the sight of a trooper."

"I bet," Ro muttered unhappily under her breath. Just great. It was one thing to interrogate an unwilling, uncooperative or perhaps simply frightened adult, but a child? Force, why did this day just keep getting harder and harder?

"As for his parents," Kase went on, giving no indication as to whether or not he'd heard her, "his father is already on the base."

Gaff furrowed his brow in confusion. "You mean, you've already contacted the child's father?" he asked, but Kase shook his head.

Understanding began to dawn on Ro and she really, really, _really _wished it hadn't.

"His father is already here, because we already brought him to the base earlier," she said, resigned to her fate by now. It was official. Today sucked plasma, big time.

Gaff glanced at her uncomprehendingly at first, then his face too cleared with comprehension.

"You mean…" he couldn't seem to bring himself to finish the sentence.

"The boy's father is already being detained at the base," Kase said, confirming Ro's suspicions. "We will be coming past his holding cell at any rate, so if you wish, Commander Arhen, you may inform Mr. Kezner of the fact that his son has been apprehended as a possible witness to today's bombing."

Ro put her face in her hands and groaned. "Captain," she said. "You have no idea how much I want you to unsay those words."

Letting her hands drop to her sides, she looked from one trooper to the other. Kase appeared to be nothing but self-contained and self-satisfied with his work, but there was a distinct unease to Gaff's stance. The poor guy looked and felt as if he were wishing for someone to jump out of a hidden panel and yell "Candid Cam!"

_Can't undue what's been done, _she told herself. _There's a scared little boy here and he needs you, no matter what you might think of his father. And he might just have actually seen something. _The Force alone knew she could use a bit of luck.

"Alright," Ro said, breaking the silence. "We'll deal with all the consequences later. For now, I'll talk to the boy. Captain Kase," she gave a tired wave of her hand, "lead the way."

"Yes, Commander." He gave her a wooden nod, turned smartly on his heels and marched back down the corridor. Ro noted that this time, he did not offer her the lead.

Gaff fell into step next to her and though all three remained silent, Ro took some strength from the young commander's proximity. He could be a soothing presence, when he wanted to be.

Ro spent the few minutes walk organizing her thoughts and her hair, both of which were hopelessly tangled. The hair, at least, she could finger comb into some type of order and tie it into a loose ponytail. Her thoughts? Not as simple. At the moment too much had happened in too short a time and she was still trying to process what had happened between her and Wren back at Drezd'any Street. She didn't want this new complication, but recognized that she would just have to put all of her personal feelings and struggles aside for the moment. That, at least, she knew how to do; Ro had spent fourteen years of her life at the Temple and her Jedi Masters had taught her well in the art of distancing. Falling into her meditative breathing, Ro exhaled all of her troubled thoughts out and inhaled clean, untainted assessment.

_The moment, _she reminded herself. _Concentrate on the moment; the here and now. _

As promised, they came by Kezner's cell, but Ro declined Captain Kase's rather pointed invitation to speak to the man. She was in no mood to indulge such a bigot and besides, she doubted she'd be able to get in a word edgewise.

Kezner was shouting at the top of his lungs, making himself audible even through the durasteel door that blocked off one section of the detention hall from the other.

"What the milking fardles is going on out there! What were those alarms! I demand to be told! I demand to be set free this instance! You can't keep me here to die, you milking canned tube spawn! I demand…"

Ro paused briefly outside of the door, regarded its solid mass, then casually asked, "How long's he been at this?"

"Since before we got here," Kase admitted. "I've ordered him several times now to lower his volume, but in each instance his only reaction was an increase in profanities." Kase's lip curled slightly at the edge in disgust, showing just the barest hint of teeth. It was the strongest reaction he'd shown in Ro's presence thus far. She was, quite frankly, impressed. It seemed Kezner had been able to get under this hunk o' rock's skin.

"How useful," Ro muttered and turned away from the door. "As if screaming the loudest ever achieved anything productive."

She glanced down the central corridor, then headed for another reinforced durasteel door a little further down. She no longer needed Kase to show her the way. Despite her exhaustion, Ro could feel the little boy now. Briefly, she touched the door with the tips of her fingers and felt _fear, terror, pain _and a trembling thread of _longing _that called up in Ro memories so dim, she was only certain of their existence. This boy wanted his mother and badly.

"A few things first," she said, most of her concentration still on the door and the boy that waited behind it. "I'm in charge in there," she told the men, her voice firm. "I do the talking and no one else." She turned towards them at that, shooting them both a soft smile to take the sting out of her words. "No offense, but I think it would be better if someone a little closer to his height asked the questions. You boys are…" she raked her eyes across their armored and armed frames, "built to intimidate. Which is fine for the big baddies, but not for the ones who still sleep with teddy bears."

"Understood," Gaff answered promptly. Kase looked slightly puzzled, as if he hadn't understood some of the words she'd used, but he too nodded his compliance.

_Maybe it's the teddy bear that's giving him problems, _Ro thought, her sense of humor returning. _Don't think he's the stuffed animal type, even as a kid. _

"Is there anything you do want us to do?" Gaff asked, his voice hopeful. He clearly wanted to be useful, in some manner.

Ro was sorry to have to disappoint him. Shaking her head she said, "No. There's not really anything you can do right now, but stay outside of the cell and try to look friendly." She cast another dubious look at the two soldiers. Right now, friendly didn't seem to be a word in their vocabulary.

Friendly required a bit of softness and Captain Kase was so stiff that Ro could have used him for hull plating on her ship. And Gaff, while undoubtedly friendly and kind, currently looked like he'd gone for a walk in hell and been kicked out again for rowdy behavior. His armor was filthy, more grey than white and streaked with black, blistered and peeling stripes of plastoid. His face was drawn, tired and there were shadows under his eyes and despite having worn the helmet throughout the catastrophe, his face was still sweat-streaked and dirty in some places. Not exactly a reassuring sight for a frightened child.

"Or, you know," she said in answer to the blank stares that greeted her, "do it like the salky and make yourself small."

She palmed the door lock and the durasteel door moved to the side, revealing a single glowing laser shield at the end of a short corridor.

Ro stepped up towards the holding cell, having to squint her eyes a little to see clearly past the orange glow of the shield. The cell, it appeared, was utterly empty.

"I-I don't understand," Captain Kase said, his composure gone in his shock upon finding an empty cell. "The boy was just here."

"Should we call out an alert?" Gaff asked her, apparently as baffled as his second-in-command at the sight of the unexpectedly empty cell.

"No," Ro said thoughtfully, still studying the confines of the cell. "No, he's still here." Her eyes flicked about the small, contained space again, before, with a smile, she turned off the laser shield. Stepping into the cell, Ro headed straight for the bunk, which jutted out from one of the sidewalls. She sat on the bunk, drummed her fingers against it for a moment, then turned around until her back rested on the thin mattress and her legs were propped up vertically against the wall.

The bunk wasn't very wide and her head dangled over the side, her long hair pooling beneath in a greasy puddle of ashy blond and blue. She wiggled about a little to get comfortable, then folded her hands on her stomach and, much to Gaff's and Kase's surprise, began talking to an apparently deserted room.

"You know, when I used to get scared, I'd crawl under a whole pile of blankets. It was warm there and dark, but not bad dark; good dark. The kind of dark that's close and filled with the sound of your heartbeat."

Ro turned her head to the right and looked into a frightened, pale little face.

"I like your idea too," she told the boy, who'd automatically shrunk back as he'd realized his hiding place had been discovered. "Hiding under the bed; now that has tradition. And there's no way the monsters would come looking for you there, because they all expect you to be on the bed. See? Great logic, once you think about it."

Owen Kezner regarded her with eyes so round that she could see most of his whites. His face was a little round, still in the process of losing some of his baby fat and at the moment, almost as grubby as hers had been.

"I never had a bed," she went on blithely, her voice relaxed, as if this were a social visit and she had nothing better to do than yarn the day away. "I had a pallet. Comfy, but no room to hide under." She pulled a face, which in her upside-down position was more of a comic grin. She felt the boy relax ever so fractionally and she began working on widening that crack in his mantel of fear with her empathy.

"Had me real upset there for a while," she continued. "But then my big brother, he showed me this really nifty trick. He taught me how to roll up my pallet in this tight bundle so I could whack the monsters with it."

Ro swung her hands down and to the side as if she held a lightsaber, so that the boy could see. The action almost unbalanced her and a tiny smile worked itself onto Owen's lips.

"Y-your brother, he sounds really cool," he said, then tucked himself into a tighter ball beneath the bunk, as if the sound of his own voice had scared him.

Ro pretended not to have seen. "Absotively, poselutely. Garett is the coolest of the cool. He's so cool, he's smoking." Then she winked at him, grinning from ear to ear.

The boy giggled and his body relaxed even further, his knees no longer touching his chest. "You talk funny."

"Only when I use words," Ro assured him. That earned her another grin and Ro saw he'd recently lost one of his upper front teeth.

_He must have a sweet smile, _she thought warmly. _Bet his mother can't stay mad at him for anything. _

"I'm Ro, by the way," she introduced herself and stuck out her hand towards the boy beneath the bunk. Grinning mischievously, she added, "It rhymes."

The boy stared at the hand wide-eyed and Ro could feel his hesitation. Carefully, she cranked up on the soothing emotions she'd been projecting since entering the holding cell.

"C'mon," she coaxed gently. "Don't leave me hanging. I don't bite unless you're a cookie, in which case, all bets are off."

With another gap-toothed smile, the little boy briefly touched her outstretched palm with his. It was a bit of an awkward maneuver for the both of them, with Ro hanging still mostly upside down and Owen squeezed into the small crawl space beneath the bunk.

"I'm Owen," he told her. "Owen Kezner." He spoke his last name a little shyly, as if expecting some sort of reaction from her upon hearing it. Ro didn't wonder at it; his father was well known in the city, with a mixed reputation. Owen was probably either ostracized by his fellow citizens or treated like the son of a hero, depending on whom he talked to.

As if uncomfortable with his own revelation, Owen quickly shifted the focus back on her. "Rhymes with what?" he asked. "Your name, I mean."

Ro brightened. "That is an excellent question and you know what? You're the first person to ask it of me since I got here. Well, it simply rhymes with everything." And she flung out her arms, as if to encompass the entirety of the universe.

"Everything?" Owen asked dubiously.

"Sure. Just think about. It rhymes with so and mow, toe and go and show and no and foe and…"

"And sow," Owen added excitedly, getting caught up in the game. His face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to come up with more words that rhymed with her name. "And…and…ago and blow and dough and crow…" His eyes were big now with wonder and Ro could see, even in the little light that reached beneath the bunk, that they were a bright shade of blue.

"You're right," he breathed out. "It does rhyme with everything."

"I know," she said, not trying to keep the satisfaction from her face. "It's a pretty stellar name, as far as name's go." Then she grimaced exaggeratedly and made a show of craning her neck. "Urgh, total blood rush."

Ro stretched out her arms until her palms were flat against the durasteel floor, then she heaved herself into a perfect handstand. She held the pose for a few seconds until she heard Owen's astonished gasp, then let herself topple onto her feet. She smiled as she felt the boy's _astonishment _and _wonder _and saw him inching forwards slightly from beneath his hiding spot, in order to see what she would do next.

Putting her hands on her knees, Ro ducked a little, so that she could see more of the space beneath the bunk. "I like talking to you, Owen," she told the boy, smiling gently. "But me, I've had a long day and I'd like to sit down. It'd be mongo stellar if you could sit with me." Her smile widened and her eyes glinted as if she were including him in some conspiracy. "That way, people coming by won't think I'm totally _loca, _talking to myself. Whatcha say," and she added just a hint of wheedling to her voice, "will you keep me from being loaded into a padded speeder in an I-love-me-jacket by very muscular gentlemen?"

She could feel the boy's hesitation returning, along with some threads of his earlier fear and trepidation. So Ro continued to radiate _reassurance, warmth, affection _and above all, _safety. _As an added incentive, she slowly stretched out one hand towards the bunk, her hand open in invitation.

The seconds ticked by as Ro remained frozen in that pose. Then, slowly, hesitantly, a little arm snaked its way from under her bunk and grubby fingers reached out to take her own.

Ro waited patiently until Owen had fully crawled out from beneath the bunk. It wasn't an easy maneuver. At nine, the boy was definitely reaching the age when hiding under the bed became a tight squeeze and the bunk wasn't placed particularly high off of the floor. But frightened children could secret themselves into the smallest hidey-holes if they had to and Owen had, no doubt, been very frightened and Ro thought it wasn't just because of what he might have seen at Drezd'any Street.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Owen, now standing straight before her, caught sight of the two clones still standing at the entrance to the cell. The boy's face went deathly white and with a cry he threw himself against Ro, his face buried in her ruined shirt and his arms around her midsection in a crushing hug.

Ro put her arms about him in return and starting rocking a little from side to side, crooning reassurances. Now that she was in physical contact with him, Ro touched Owen directly through the Force, blanketing him in tranquility and reassurance.

She cast a quick look at the clones, while stroking the boy's tussled light brown hair. There was the slightest trace of exasperation and contempt on Kase's face, but Gaff looked honestly puzzled and not a little despondent. Clearly the fact that he scared this child was upsetting him, whereas it left the captain rather cold.

_Whoever said that clones are all the same never actually met one, _Ro thought and focused back on Owen.

"It's alright, honey," she told him, still stroking his hair and rocking him gently. "They won't hurt you, I promise. Nobody here will. You're safe here with me. Shhh."

Her reassurances, verbal and through the Force, were doing the trick. Slowly, Ro could feel him calming back down, enough at least to raise his head and argue with her.

"They 'urt people in the city," he protested, his voice a little wobbly with unshed tears. "They killed some, too, when the big ships came."

Ro's heart seized painfully. War; it was such a despicable thing. Of course Owen would associate the clones with death, if he'd been in Eyat during the time of the invasion. The battle had, by all accounts, been rather mild in comparison to the rest of the Wars, but that didn't take away its brutality. People had died, been killed and decent, good men, like Gaff and Wess – and yes, like Wren and Kase, though neither was currently in her good books – had been forced to kill people who were essentially nothing more than armed civilians. And children like Owen had been made impromptu witnesses to the violence.

Ro fought down her own distress, focusing on the boy. Gently, she pried his arms from around her waist and instead slung one of hers around his shoulders in a one-sided embrace.

"I know, honey," she said quietly. "But they weren't really trying to hurt you. They were told to come here, to fight against an enemy and your people got caught in the middle." Well, that wasn't really the truth, but she didn't think that Owen was up for a prolonged debate about shades of grey, tangled alliances and soldiers who didn't necessarily wear uniforms. Particularly if he'd absorbed some of his father's vitriol.

She began leading him back to the bunk, glancing once more at Gaff and Kase as she did so. Gaff, to her delight, had apparently decided to take her advice literally and had actually made himself try to appear less threatening by sitting back on his haunches in front of the cell door. Kase, his face still blank, his stance still rigid, had at least withdrawn further into the corner of the short hallway.

_At least they're trying, _she thought and gave both of them an acknowledging smile. They looked so awkward, especially Gaff; like children stuck in the bodies of adults and with no real idea what to do with them.

She kept her arm around Owen as she coaxed him unto the bunk, both as a means of reassurance and support, as well as preventing him from bolting again.

When they were both settled on the narrow mattress, Ro took the opportunity to look at the boy more closely. He was a typical nine-year-old, starting to get lanky, with ears that stuck out a little and the barest dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose. He was almost as filthy as Ro was, though she detected nothing more than the barest hint of smoke on him. So, Kase had been right. Owen had been near the fire and maybe even near enough for the explosion to have coated him in some duraplast dust. The stuff in his hair certainly seemed to have the right consistency and color for it.

"That's a nasty gash," she said, pointing at his left forearm. Owen pulled the arm towards him protectively, looking at the cut as if he expected it to bite him. It was at least three centimeters long, looked to be shallow and was already starting to crust over. Still, it had to be cleaned and needed bacta and a synthflesh bandage.

"Yeah," Owen mumbled, still looking down at his arm. "Guess so."

"Hmmm," Ro said noncommittally. "Would you like to tell me where you got it?"

Silence.

"Did you get it while playing with your friends?"

A nod.

"Where were you playing?"

A mumbled response. "In the city."

"That can be dangerous, what with all the cars and such. Why not play in the parks?"

Owen began to shift uncomfortably and wouldn't meet her eyes.

Ro ducked her head a little so that she could see his face. The poor kid was now emanating definite traces of _guilt _and a little _shame. _

"Owen?" she asked gently and added a little encouragement through the Force. She hated manipulating children like this, but better her approach than he'd be wrangled by the likes of Captain Kase.

"It's out in the open," the boy finally admitted.

Which told her nothing and everything. Giving a sage nod, Ro decided not to pursue this avenue further.

"Well, you might have heard that something very bad happened in the city today."

Another nod and _trepidation _was beginning to weave itself into Owen's emotional makeup. But Ro also sensed _recognition; _Owen definitely knew what she was talking about.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Owen, because I think you're a very clever boy and probably figured this out already. The reason you're here is because we think you might have also _seen _what happened in the city today."

Owen gasped a little at that and his face went even paler. Oh yes, he definitely had seen what had happened, or at least some of it.

"Could you tell me about what you saw?" she asked quietly. "It would be very helpful to me if you did."

He looked up at her then and she saw that this eyes were watery with unshed tears and his lips trembled a little. He was trying to be brave but Ro could feel the fear in him.

"I can understand that you'd be scared," she reassured him. "I'm a lot older than you and I'm scared by what I saw today. But Owen, I'm more scared about the fact that the person who did this is still out there and he could do it again. I want to prevent him from doing that, from hurting more people, but I need help. Can you help me?"

"I-I-I can't" he said, his voice caught between a sob and a whisper.

Ro pressed the little boy to her side, once more rocking him a little.

"Because you were doing something you shouldn't have, when you saw what happened."

Wordlessly, he nodded against her shoulder.

"No one here is going to be mad at you, Owen. I don't care that you were playing with Marits and neither do Gaff and Kase."

Owen gasped in shock and pulled away from her, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. "Ho-how'd you know?" he asked her, flabbergasted to the point where he had forgotten his fear.

Ro smiled at him, but kept her reasonings to herself. He was the son of Avnen Kezner; what else would he be afraid of but being caught playing with the offspring of his father's mortal enemies.

"Doesn't matter," she told him. "What does is that I don't care. And your father doesn't need to know," she added.

Owen swallowed hard, but seemed to accept her reassurances. Still, he kept his attention fixed on his dangling feet as he told her his story.

"Me and Marny and Betha, we met up with Selkz and Tiskz and some others. Selkz'd gotten a new ball and we were trying it out, playing bolo." Some of the animation came back to him at the memory of this bit of fun, and his blue eyes sparkled a little. "I scored a point and the ball, it bounced off of _three walls, _before it started rolling," he said, a little bit of brag evident in his voice. "It rolled out into the open and on the street. Marny, he went after it, but a clone, he stopped 'im. There was a whole bunch o'them and this one, he told Marny to wait and then he went out into the street and got our ball back. He told us to scat afterwards and said to stay out of the streets, just like momma always does." Owen gave a nervous kick of one leg, then glanced at the two troopers at the entrance, then back at Ro. In a whisper, he added, "He was real nice, that clone. Not at all like the killers everyone says they are."

Ro found herself giving the boy a sad little smile, both for Sergeant Fallout and the prejudices that had been drummed into this child. "Someday," she said to Owen, "I'd like to meet this Everyone people are always quoting. He says a lot and most of it proves to be wrong."

"Guess so," Owen admitted and went back to studying his dirty shoes. "Everyone also says that the Marits are real bad and its their fault everything's so bad. But Selkz and Tiskz are real nice and Tiskz's father, he got killed by a Human."

"Then maybe," Ro said, "the important thing to remember is that your two friends are nice."

"Yeah," he said a little shyly.

Carefully, Ro brought him back on topic. "What happened after you got your ball back?"

Owen grimaced. "We went back to the alleys, like we was told. Bolo's more fun with walls to kick the ball against. We were almost two blocks away when suddenly, the ground starts to shake and then this huge blast of air comes at us and its really loud and hot and there's all kinds of dust in it and it smelled funny and made my eyes tear. Betha and some of the others got real scared, because there was flying bits in there too and some of us got hurt." A glance at his wounded arm. "Tiskz said we should go home. He and Selkz looked really sick. They said the boom made their skulls hurt. So we went back home, but slower like and then this group o'clones came at us and we started getting scared, 'cause everyone about was screaming and yelling and there were sirens and everything. So we ran, but I wasn't fast enough." He hung his head, as if admitting to being unable to keep up with his faster friends was a great lacking on his part.

Ro, who was well acquainted with the feeling of being left behind, patted him comfortingly on his back.

"That's alright, Owen," she told him. "I'm sure if you weren't hurt, you'd have run like the wind."

That did seem to brighten him up a bit, but Ro was still mulling over what he'd told her. It didn't sound like anything useful. Seemed like he and his friends had just been caught in the shockwave of the explosion. It was a miracle they'd gotten out of the area in time to avoid the spreading fire, but then, the gods tended to look after the stupid, the drunk and younglings.

"Owen," she asked carefully, "did you see anyone while you were playing in the alleys?"

"Sure," the boy told her easily. "Lots of folks."

"I mean," Ro clarified, "did you see anyone you didn't like. Someone who scared you?" The question might have appeared non-sensical to an adult, but Ro had learned that children were incredibly sensitive to their surroundings and to grown-ups in particular. When you were little and the rest of the world was big, you developed a preternatural awareness of those who just might step on you, if only by accident. Adults might rarely be aware of children, but children were always aware of the presence of adults.

Owen was considering her question carefully, his tongue running distractedly through the gap in his teeth. "There was old mister Henkins," he told her. "He's always mean, always yelling at us to be quiet and some big kids, who were playing cards and told us to buzz off. And…" he hesitated.

"Yes?" Ro asked him, feeling Gaff coming to attention, though she did not move her eyes away from Owen.

"I saw this grown-up," he told her slowly. "When we was chasing after the ball. He was walking away from Drezd'any Street. He…he scared me, but he didn't yell or anything. Don't think he even saw us. He was just walking, kept looking back over his shoulder, like he didn't really want to leave, you know? He was kind of talking to himself, but I couldn't hear what he was saying."

"Was he Human?" Ro asked. "Did you know him?"

"He was Human, but I didn't know him. I…I didn't really go up to him. He scared me," Owen repeated in a more subdued tone of voice.

Ro felt the investigator inside of her come to attention. This might actually be something. "Did he look angry? Or more satisfied?" Seeing Owen's puzzled expression, she explained, "Did he look like he'd just lost a bolo game, or more as if he'd just scored a great goal, like you did?"

"Neither, really," Owen said. "He looked more like…like…like he was waiting for his favorite pastry to come out of the oven."

_Anticipation? _Ro wondered. Well, it wasn't exactly what she would have expected, but it would fit, though this was spurious evidence at best. Still, a surety was beginning to settle into Ro and there was the faintest sensation against her temples, as if feathers were gently brushing against the skin there. This wasn't just her being hopeful; the Force was telling her that Owen Kezner had seen the bomber.

"Can you tell me how he looked like?" Ro asked, trying not to let too much of her hope leak into her voice; knowing how much depended on his testimony would just intimidate Owen. But the boy just shook his head.

"What about clothes?" Ro continued. "Or how he walked or even how he smelled."

"No," Owen said, crestfallen. "I didn't get really close to him and he…he was like…like a Nothing Man."


	20. Chapter 19: Promises

**Author's Note: **This chapter is entitled Promises and I am reminded of the fact that I promised no more chapters as long as Consumed. Well, I broke my promise and am determined to make no more of the kind. What I will say is that I will try to keep such extra long chapters to a minimum.

* * *

**Promises**

"_Life is a promise, fulfill it." _

_- Mother Teresa _

* * *

_The holding cells, the detention block, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (25 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

"A Nothing Man?" Ro repeated Owen's words carefully, mulling them over.

At the cell's entrance, she could feel Gaff's _disappointment_ and Kase's _annoyance _at Owen's revelation. Clearly, both men had hoped for something a little more than this.

"Yeah," Owen said, his blue eyes fixed to her face, searching for signs of ridicule or disbelief. "Like, you know, he was there and then he wasn't. And the others, they didn't see him at all. Like there was nothing there."

"I see," she said slowly, thinking furiously. This fit into her preliminary profile. The bomber was obviously someone who knew how to fit in with his surroundings; fit in, in fact, so completely that it was like he wasn't there at all. That did not bode well for her. She'd been hoping to use the paranoid and suspicious attitude of the populace to her advantage, employing them as her eyes and ears around the city. The people of Eyat, the Humans in particular, were watchful of any abnormality, seeing them as warning signs for any more potential trouble. Ro'd been planning to shift the focus of the two factions from each other to the bomber, by publicizing a few telltale markers about the rat. Such a strategy had worked for her before, but the problem with this case was that the only identifying markers she had of the bomber weren't things that the general populace could recognize. Her profile at the moment was far too vague to be made public; it could apply to well over half of the male population of Eyat. Owen had seemed like the source she'd been hoping for, but as with her profile and her vague sense of the man, which she'd gleaned in the few seconds before the residential bombing, she couldn't very well go public with a description of a "Nothing Man".

_Looks like another dead end,_ she thought, trying not to feel too disappointed. Eyewitness accounts were never actually as helpful as the name implied and she should never have pinned her expectations on what Owen could tell her. A rookie mistake, no doubt brought on by her terrible fatigue.

_All I get of this rat is vague impressions and shadows. Nothing Man, indeed. _

Ro felt a sudden weight settle against her shoulder and looking down, she saw Owen's head resting against her. The poor kid. Calmed down under Ro's influence, the day had finally caught up with him and he was practically asleep. Force, how well she could relate to that. In her current state, even the narrow bunk of the cell felt inviting. In fact, watching Owen slowly nod off was making her own eyelids feel like they were connected to dumbbells. It was most definitely time to call it quits and make sure this little boy spent the night where he belonged: at home, with his mother to tuck him into bed.

Maybe then Ro could manage to tuck herself into her own bed.

Gently, Ro prodded Owen back to alertness and got him back on his feet. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she looked down at him, forcing herself to dip deeply into her last reserves of strength. Ro didn't have as strong a connection to the Force as most Jedi, but she could delve into it as a means of replenishing herself for short periods of time. It would leave her even more exhausted in the end, but she figured it would be worth it if she could at least give this little boy some peace of mind.

So she squeezed his shoulders reassuringly and forced a proud, warm smile onto her face, banishing any and all signs of fatigue in the process. "You did great, Owen," she told him and meant it. For someone his age, he'd done splendidly.

"I did?" he asked, astonished.

"Yeah," she assured him. "You did. And I think it was really brave of you, as well."

"Sooo." Owen dragged out the word, shuffling his feet a little. "That man I saw, is he the bomber?" His blue eyes looked at her as only a young child could when faced with the monsters of nightmares: trusting in her strength as the adult to shield him from real harm, yet at the same time, aware at a fundamental level that there were some evils too big even for grownups to slay. Ro read in his face excitement at the possibility that he might have come so close to an actual, real-life monster, but there was also fear and a knowledge of the possible consequences that lent him an age far beyond his years.

That look made her hesitate and her teal eyes flicked to the side as she thought on how best to answer his question. She didn't want to lie to Owen. In her experience, lying to children was rarely successful because they possessed a far deeper awareness of the world around them than most adults. But at the same time, she didn't want to frighten Owen more than he'd already been and she most definitely did not want him accidentally blurting out that he'd seen the bomber. That would almost certainly make him a target, especially since this rat seemed very conscientious about keeping himself anonymous.

So she answered his question slowly, choosing her words with great care in the process. "I don't know," she said honestly. "But I think he might be, which is why I need you to promise me something Owen. Can you promise me that you won't tell anyone, not even your mom, that you might have seen the bomber today?"

He opened his mouth to answer her, but she raised a hand, forestalling him.

"No, Owen, don't answer me just yet, because I need you to be completely, absotively poselutely _sure,_" and she stressed the word in warning, "that you will be able to keep this promise. It's not an easy promise to keep. In fact, I know it's going to be really, really _bombad_ hard to do so, but it's equally important that you do."

Now the boy was scuffing his foot along the dull grey durasteel decked floor. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and filled with apprehension. "Because the bomber could find me and my mom and dad and 'urt us?" he asked. "That's how it always goes in the holovids. Someone sees the bad guy and then the bad guy has to kill him to keep his identity secret."

_Oh, the wonders of the HoloNet, _Ro thought sarcastically and fought down the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly, leave it to HNE to explain to a nine-year-old just how evil and dangerous the galaxy could be. But she might as well go along with the groundwork already set down for her.

"Yeah, Owen, that's why," she told the boy seriously. Then she gave his shoulder's a little shake, to make him look up and meet her eyes. "But here's the rub, honey. You won't have to keep your promise for long, because I'm going to catch this monster and lock him up and make sure he never hurts someone else ever again."

"You?" Owen asked, the dubious look in his eyes and the incredulous expression on his face revealing his skepticism at her words. "You're gonna catch a bad guy?"

"Sure," Ro said confidently and had to suppress a burgeoning smile. Force, if she had a credit for every time she'd gotten the look Owen was giving her now...Well, suffice to say she'd no longer be paying a mortgage on her ship.

"Why not?"

"You're little," Owen stated with all the precocious wisdom of a nine-year-old. "When you're little, you can't catch bad guys. Little people can't catch anything, 'cause no one's scared of you," he added, sounding disheartened.

This time, Ro let the smile come. Over the years of her apprenticeship she'd heard this argument before in various forms and she had an answer at the ready. "Did you know that the Pryss-creatures of Verig are afraid of the clawmouse?"

"No," Owen said, obviously confused as to where she was going with this.

"Well, they are," she informed him. "These creatures are larger than banthas, but they're scared of something as small as their toenail. And that's because the clawmouse can get where no other predator can. It can crawl into their ears and their noses and take them down from the inside. That's what I do, Owen," she told the boy with another squeeze to his shoulders. "I take the baddies down from the inside, by getting into their heads. And you don't need to be big for that, just really clever." Her smile turned thin and sharp and decidedly predatory. "I'm the ghost in their shadows and when they see me coming, monsters and baddie alike run for the hills." She straightened from her semi-crouch before him and patted the two lightsabers hanging off of her belt, drawing Owen's attention to them. Noticing the distinctive weapons for the first time, Owen's eyes grew to the size of saucers in astonished recognition.

"Yo-you're a…"

"I'm a professional monster hunter," she told him proudly and was rewarded with a small face lit up in wonder and sheer, undaunted faith. It was nice to see that at least in the eyes of this child, the mysticism and fairy-tale-like status of the Jedi had not yet been diminished by the Clone Wars.

Feeling his mood and confidence lifting, Ro took this opportunity to get Owen back to their original conversation.

"Owen," she called and the boy managed to tear his eyes away from the two gleaming hilts. "Do I have your word? Can I trust you to keep mum?"

He nodded mutely, his expression more solemn now and Ro did not press him further. She could feel the earnestness radiating from the boy like heat waves. He would keep his promise, or at least try to do so to the best of his ability. It would have to be enough. Owen had done his part and the rest was up to her.

Smiling down at the boy, she gently turned him around by his shoulders, wanting to get him out of the cell and back to Eyat now that this business was completed. _His mother must be going thermal by now, _she thought sympathetically.

Owen caught sight of the two waiting troopers at the entrance and shrank back a little against Ro. Clearly, he wasn't about to get over his fear of the soldiers anytime soon, even with a Jedi at his back.

Ro gently, but firmly, led him towards the troopers. "It's fine, Owen," she told him. "Remember, I said no one here was going to hurt you."

Gaff quickly made way for them as they approached and considerately stepped to the side, next to Kase; putting as much distance between him and Owen as the narrow passage would allow. He smiled down at the boy, a little awkwardly, but kindly nonetheless. It was certainly better than Kase's wooden expression. Did that man ever crack a smile, or would his face split into two if he did?

Owen glanced nervously at the troopers, then back at Ro. "Davden said it was troopers who arrested dad."

They were now past the durasteel door and back into the main corridor of the detention facility. Ro was relieved to hear that Kezner had given up on his shouting. At least the poor kid wouldn't have to listen to his father ranting, but she still couldn't stop herself from throwing a guilty glance in the direction of the man's cell. She really hated this part.

"Actually, Owen," she said. "That was me. I arrested your dad. The soldiers just helped me do it."

Owen stopped in his tracks and turned his big blue eyes on her. Ro sighed; that was so not fair. Who could ever resist a child's reproachful gaze?

"You locked my dad up?"

"Yeah," she admitted.

Owen looked from her face to her lightsabers. "Is my dad in trouble?" he asked her.

"He is, Owen," she admitted. "A lot."

"Because of the stuff he says about Marits?"

"It's not just that," she said and cast a warning look at Captain Kase, who was following closely behind them with Gaff. She'd felt his need to jump in at the boy's question and correct Owen. Better she be the one to do that. Captain Kase might not mean any harm, but she didn't trust him to be tactful about this.

"Owen," Ro said quietly, "your dad did some very bad things with his friends. He scared a lot of people, because like you, they thought some of the Marits were actually pretty nice."

"Dad never scared me," Owen insisted, but Ro could feel the lie in the boy's words. It was obvious that Owen was scared that his father would find out about his Marit friends. But Owen was just a boy who loved his father and would never say so out loud. This was why Ro despised haters. They spread their poison and never even noticed when it started to affect those they actually did care about.

"I'm sure he didn't." Ro went along with the lie, but silently, she added, _At least not on purpose. _"But the thing is, Owen, your dad doesn't have the right to do that to other people. No one has the right to make you feel scared just because you want to be friends with someone. Your dad needs to learn that, or else, someday, he might just get so angry at someone that he'll hurt them."

"Technically," Captain Kase interjected, "we already know that Mr. Kezner…"

Ro shot him such a quelling look that it made his jaws audibly snap shut. Someday Owen might have to know that his father had already hurt others, that, inadvertently, he had even caused the death of some. But not today and not in the clipped, precise words of a pedantic with an authority complex.

Turning back to Owen, she gave the boy another hopefully reassuring smile. "He needs to learn his lesson, Owen. But I promise you that when he does, I'll make sure he comes back to you right away." That, at least, was a promise she knew she could keep.

Owen searched her face for a hint of a lie, but found none. "How long is that going to take?"

"That depends a little on your dad and a lot on the law, but I'll see what I can do. Not soon, but he won't be gone forever either. 'Kay?"

"Okay," Owen agreed, nodding his head glumly.

Ro couldn't stand seeing anyone, let alone a child, so downtrodden. The poor kid looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Deliberately putting on a more cheerful face, Ro ruffled his dirty brown hair. "'Kay now. Now that we've got that settled, how 'bout we go to the infirmary and have that nasty cut of yours looked after? I can't possibly take you back to your mom damaged. She might just make me pay for you."

That elicited a tired giggle from the boy, but his next question was slightly anxious. "We're going to see a doctor?"

"Yes, but he's a friend of mine. His name is Wess and he's really nice." She grinned down at him in wicked humor. "And I know a ton of nerf herder jokes, so while he patches you up, how about I see how long it takes me to get him to blush scarlet?"

Owen grinned back at her with the gape-toothed smile of a small boy scenting mischief.

Kase gingerly cleared his throat at this and, with a pointed look at Gaff, asked to be excused to return to his duties.

"Of course, Captain," Gaff told him and dismissed the other man. Ro couldn't say that she was sorry to see him go. He'd brought her a good lead in the form of Owen, but that didn't mean she liked the man one bit. How could Gaff work with him?

The three of them made their way through the base, towards the infirmary. The strength she'd borrowed from the Force was starting to run out and she was beginning to feel like she might drop at any second, but despite that, Ro kept up a litany of cheerful banter, giving Owen a preview of her nerf herder joke collection. Well, the child-appropriate ones, anyway.

Gaff followed silently, from time to time murmuring directions to her. Ro could tell that it was more than fatigue that was weighing the commander down. Now that he no longer had any pressing duties to distract him, grief, raw and fresh, was beginning to surface.

In total, the bomber had now taken the lives of over fifty people, including ten troopers. _I'll get you, _she vowed, while keeping a smile on her face for Owen. _I'll get you and when I do, I'll lock you up in the darkest cell I can find and no one will ever hear from you ever again. Then you'll really be nothing. _

* * *

_Senator Padmé Amidala's apartment, 500 Republica, Ambassadorial Sector, Senate District, Coruscant, Core Worlds, 21 BBY (25 days after the first bombings & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Padmé was going through the last of her datafiles when the chime to her front door sounded through the apartment. Startled, she looked up. Who could that possibly be? It was well past the hour for social visits and while most senators tended to work long hours, they did so in the privacy of their apartments or offices, as she did. So that would rule out one of her fellow politicians.

For a single, foolish moment, Padmé thought it might be Anakin, come to visit her during one of his brief – and often unannounced – visits to Coruscant. But that hope was squashed almost as soon as it began to ferment in her mind. Anakin, she knew very well, was busy in the Outer Rim and besides, he rarely ever came through the front door and never at this hour. Their marriage was a secret and had to remain that way, for both of their sakes. Having the Hero of the Republic waltz into the apartment of Naboo's senator and former child queen like it was an everyday occurrence – as if this were his _home_ – would draw far too much unwanted attention. Anakin chaffed under the necessity of keeping their love a secret, but he would never take such a foolish risk.

The near-silent whine of well-oiled servomotors brought Padmé back to the here and now and turning from her seat on the balcony, she saw her protocol droid C-3PO make his way towards the door. The droid was complaining, in his usual fussy manner, about the late intrusion and Padmé found a fond smile coming to her lips as she listened to the familiar litany.

Threepio could be a nuisance at times, but he had been a gift from Anakin and for that alone, she treasured the droid.

Putting away her stylus and datapad, Padmé walked slowly into her tastefully furnished living area, absentmindedly smoothing a few wrinkles from her simple, midnight blue robe. The night had been so beautiful today and temperatures so pleasant, that she had opted to do some work on the balcony for a change of scenery. But if she was to entertain guests, no matter how unusual the hour or how unexpected the visit, the living area would provide a more comfortable and proper setting.

That this uninvited guest might be a threat, never occurred to her. 500 Republica was one of the safest and best guarded buildings in the Senatorial District. Clone troopers from the Coruscant Guard manned the lobby itself and carefully monitored all incoming and outgoing sentient traffic. Everyone was scanned, their id checked and their baggage searched; even those who lived here underwent the strident security measures. Those vigilant troopers wouldn't let an unauthorized gnat into this building, let alone a whole person. And besides, in her experience, danger rarely bothered with such social niceties as a door chime.

She heard Threepio in the hallway, exclaiming with some surprise. "Oh, Senator Organa, what an unexpected visit this is."

_Bail? _Padmé thought, astonished, then felt trepidation flow through her. Bail Organa was one of her dearest friends and she had long since invited him to come and visit her whenever he wanted, but Alderaan's senator and prince was far too well mannered to ever come unannounced to a woman's apartment at this hour. Unless it was an emergency.

Swallowing, Padmé remembered the last time Bail had come to her at an uncommon time. Then, he had ended up asking her about the Sith and he and Obi-Wan had disappeared into Wild Space, to track down a lost Sith planet, which had nearly ended up killing them both.

Padmé wrung her hands, momentarily caught up in her anxiety and thereby missed Threepio greeting a second guest.

When Bail's tall and elegantly dressed figure stepped into her living room, Padmé instantly walked towards him. "Bail," she said, looking up at him in concern, "I wasn't expecting you. Did something happen?"

Before Bail could answer, another voice, slightly cracked with age, spoke up. "Something happen indeed it did, Senator."

"Oh," Padmé exclaimed and looked past – and down – Bail. "Master Yoda," she said, her hand coming up to her lips in mortification at having overlooked the head of the Jedi Order. "I do apologize. I was just…caught unawares for a moment."

Master Yoda nodded gravely in acceptance of her apology. "Understand this, I do. Late is the hour and unannounced we come. Fear, I do, that no choice there was. Apologize I do, for the intrusion."

_Well, _Padmé thought, a little thunderstruck. She'd never expected to get an apology out of the wizened Jedi Master.

"Th-that's perfectly all right," Padmé said, quickly regaining her composure. "I'm assuming that you wouldn't have come, Master Yoda, if it were not important."

"It is, Padmé," Bail assured her, speaking for the first time. His face was grave as he spoke, his voice solemn. "I don't suppose you've gotten around to reading the itinerary for the day after tomorrow?"

Padmé gave a small laugh. "Bail, I've been so busy. What with the Loyalist and the Security Committee and my duties as Naboo's senator, I've hardly had time to go over tomorrow's itinerary. But please," she said, gesturing towards the seating arrangement in the middle of her spacious living room. "If we're going to talk, at least let us be comfortable."

Bail, always the conscientious prince, bowed to her slightly and settled himself in one of the comfortable chairs. Padmé noticed that he was still wearing his formal grey senatorial robes. He must have rushed over to her straight from his office.

Yoda, with a respectful inclination of his head, followed the senator's example and walked slowly towards the chairs, his gimer stick beating a steady tattoo against her floor. For one ridiculous moment, Padmé found herself wondering how the diminutive Jedi was supposed to seat himself on her Human-sized furniture and if maybe she should ask Threepio to get him a stool.

But before she had time to even laugh at her own foolishness, Yoda had already settled himself on a small sofa with a leap that had been so quick, she'd blinked and missed it. _As if I needed a reminder that he was the most powerful Jedi of the Order, _she thought ruefully.

Gracefully, Padmé seated herself on a settee, facing both of the men. Threepio appeared at her side almost instantly.

"Shall I fetch some refreshments, mistress?" The droid asked her solicitously. "Alderaanian brandy perhaps, for the Senator?"

Padmé cast a quick glance at her guests, but saw that neither one was in the mood for such pleasantries. "No thank you, Threepio," she said and dismissed the droid for the night. It went, although Padmé could have sworn that Threepio's stiff-legged gait was somehow…offended.

"Now," Padmé said, "what's this about the itinerary? What did I miss?"

Assured of their privacy, Bail leaned towards her, his elbows resting on his thighs. "At first glance, you'd think nothing," he said, his expressive face devoid of its usual humor. "Only thing new is a hastily scheduled meeting of the Senate, to talk about the process some of the newly _liberated_," and Padmé did not miss the ironic emphasis he put on the word, "planets have made, in being certified as fully-recognized members of the Republic."

"Alright," Padmé said slowly. "But, aside from the fact that that session was scheduled for next month, what is so alarming about it."

Now it was Yoda who leaned slightly towards her. "Among the planets to be discussed, Gaftikar, there is."

"Gaftikar?" Padmé exclaimed in surprise. "But Gaftikar has only been recaptured a little over two months ago. There are planets that have been waiting for the Senate's attention since the start of the Wars."

"I take it you've heard of the bombings occurring there?" Bail asked her.

Padmé nodded.

"Well, we've just been informed that there's been another attack, bigger even than the one that took place yesterday." Bail's face took on a drawn, haunted cast. "By all accounts," he said, his voice falling into a horrified whisper, "it was a slaughter. So far, almost forty people are dead and nearly twice that number has suffered severe injuries. Apparently the explosion caused some kind of firestorm that got out of hand and nearly devoured two blocks of the city's shopping district."

"Dead too," Master Yoda added, "a full squad of clone troopers are."

Padmé gasped, her hand rising to her lips in shock. Before her eyes flashed the scenes of carnage she had witnessed after the bombings at the Administrator Sector almost a year before. She found that her hand was trembling slightly and quickly lowered it to her lap, where she could clasp it with her other. She was no stranger to violence, but found that even after the attack on Naboo and being at war for over a year had not inundated her to the shock of so much continued wanton destruction.

"That," she said heavily, "is just awful."

"Indeed," Bail said gravely. "But what is worse is that Shenio Mining has used this opportunity to petition the Senate to declare marshal law on Gaftikar."

"What!" Padmé barely restrained herself from jumping to her feet in indignation. "Marshal law? On what grounds?" She turned incredulous eyes on Bail. "And Palpatine is just going along with this?" She couldn't believe it. The kindly old man, Naboo's former senator, would never so willfully undermine a planet's legitimate right to govern itself. Would he?

Bail gave a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid he is. Shenio has, I hear, put quite a bit of pressure on him. As you know, the company is one of the main financial backers for the Kemla Shipping Yards. They might not produce anything of importance to the immediate war effort, but they've been quite liberal with their…ehm…support for the Republic."

"In other words," Padmé said bitterly, "they're holding the purse strings to one of the biggest military shipping yards of the Republic and they think that gives them the right to decide government policy."

"That," Bail said dryly, "would be it."

Yoda's dark eyes went from Bail to Padmé, his hands resting lightly on his legs. Padmé thought the Jedi Master looked tired, but couldn't be sure. Yoda's expression was almost beyond her ability to interpret and the Jedi was nearly a thousand years old. Age was sometimes difficult to distinguish from fatigue.

"Difficult, the situation is," he said. "In danger, the people of Gaftikar are. Know not, we do, the source of these deaths. Panic, there is. Much fear. More troops perhaps would help, but the resources we have not."

"With all do respect, Master Yoda," Padmé interjected. "I don't believe that this problem would be solved by throwing more clone troopers at it. By all accounts," and she threw Bail a glance to see if she was right, "the people of Gaftikar are more than a little opposed to the GAR garrison already onplanet."

"More than a little is right," Bail said, an ironic smile for her understatement touching his lips. "There've been protests all around and even some attacks on the troopers. Not," he added with a flash of humor in his eyes, "that those have been at all successful."

Padmé, thinking of the tall, heavily armored troopers guarding her building and the Senate, could very well imagine why.

Deciding to bring the discussion back on subject, Padmé returned to one of her earlier questions. "Exactly how is this demand for marshal law justified?" she asked. "I mean, I know the new security measures have placed heavy emphasis on Palpatine's right to evoke the marshal law clause, but he still needs justifiable cause to do so."

"Basically," Bail said, "Shenio Mining is accusing the civilian government of incompetence. They've already logged a host of other complaints against the planetary council, all of them harking on the fact that they can't keep their own people in line and are too inexperienced to handle the current crisis."

"But an invasion fleet of clone troopers and a Supreme Chancellor hundreds of lightyears away can?" Padmé couldn't help the touch of sarcasm that colored her words at the notion.

"Not at all," Bail said, his voice flat as he handed her a datapad. "This is the proposal Shenio Mining has handed in to the Senate."

Padmé read over the points quickly, feeling her temper rise with each line she read.

"This-this is…" she sputtered. "This is absolutely ridiculous. They want to be appointed as Planetary Administrator?"

"According to them," Bail told her, his voice that smooth, cultured tone he took up in his role as a politician, "they have the resources to finance their own security force. And the person they have in mind for the position – a Luddmilla Lucara – has extensive experience in organizing and administering a large, multi-system conglomerate corporation. She has also," he added, "been on Gaftikar ever since the fighting has been over, overseeing Shenio's mining operations on the planet."

"This is atrocious," Padmé muttered, her fingers restlessly combing back her dark hair. As she hadn't been expecting any more company for the night, she'd left her hair unbound and free of any of her usual ceremonial headdresses. "They think they can just usurp the democratic process like that?"

"Hmmm, in war, many ideals there are lost. For victory, many compromises made there are," Yoda said. Padmé glanced at the wizened Jedi sharply, but could not tell whether he had meant to sound criticizing or was simply stating an uncomfortable truth.

_I guess that's why Anakin gets so frustrated after talking with the Council, _she thought. _How difficult must it be to constantly have to answer to someone whose true motives you can never comprehend? _

Yoda turned his large eyes on her and Padmé quickly banished all thoughts of her husband. For a moment, she thought she might have given them both away, because Yoda's eyes lingered on her for just a moment too long.

"How many have seen this?" Padmé asked quickly, waving the datapad for emphasis.

Bail, unaware of her discomfort, sighed. "Everyone from the Security Committee and about two-thirds of the senators. The memo only went out about an hour ago, so I suppose there will be some who won't get to it until late tomorrow. But Padmé," he said, once more leaning towards her, his eyes intense, "I've talked to a good number of people already and I'm afraid this proposal has more than its fair share of supporters."

Padmé sighed, both from weariness and a general, long-lasting disillusionment concerning her fellow senators. "More backwash from the bombings last year, I take it?"

Bail nodded and Yoda said, "Fear, a powerful motivator is. But lead it does to decisions based not on principle. Only the dark side from fear profits."

"And large corporations," Bail added cynically. "Not that there's much of a difference."

This comment earned Bail a twitch from one of the Jedi Master's long ears and a nearly imperceptible smile. It always astonished Padmé to see these little glimpses of the ancient Jedi Master's sense of humor. Most of the time, Master Yoda was such a solemn and revered personage, that humor almost seemed anathema to his image.

"I've heard that Gaftikar has large deposits of kelerium and norax, but is that really worth all the trouble Shenio is going through?" Padmé asked, directing her question at Bail, who'd obviously kept himself well informed of happenings on distant Gaftikar. Not surprising, really. Alderaan, like Naboo, was a major contributor to the War Refugee and Reconstruction Fund, and as the planet's prince, as well as its representative in the Senate, Bail would be up to date about all the companies that could be potentially useful in helping war-ravaged planets attain some kind of normality again.

And Bail did not disappoint her. Throwing one leg over the other, he leaned back in his chair, stroking his goatee as he arranged his thoughts. "Actually," he began, "it is. Shenio Mining, as the name implies, originally operated out of the Shenio system. However, that system is now in the hands of the Separatists. When that happened, the corporation took a huge risk and decided to stand with the Republic instead. The Republic rewarded their loyalty, of course," and his lips twisted slightly to indicate his opinion of that kind of favoritism, "but they've still suffered quite a few losses. For one, their main mining holds and trade partners are now in Separatist occupied space, being administered by the Trade Federation. They've lost all their mining rights and have to compete in a market with already well established mine claims and corporate governed planets. Gaftikar, because it's such a newly colonized world, was basically ignored by the larger corporations, who already have all the ore they could want. In the great scheme of things, Gaftikar appears to be a relatively small fish, but Shenio is good at planning long-term. They _know _this war can't last forever and when it does end, a lot of planets are going to be left in ruins. And that means a high demand for minerals, ores and metals used in construction, of which kelerium and norax happens to be two of the main ones. They're planning on cornering the market and so far, they've done a pretty good job of it as well. Most of the other mining companies have switched their focus on raw materials useful for the war and are fighting over resources like starved akk dogs. Shenio's been buying up all the leftovers and have already made a tidy sum in bidding for reconstruction contracts. They're hiding their success in the shadows, so far, but once this war ends Padmé, I can guarantee you they'll be swimming in credits."

"And Gaftikar is a central piece for that goal," Padmé concluded and grimaced in distaste. "I'm not sure whether to admire them for their innovation or be appalled at their scheming. They sound like a clan of Neimoidian accountants."

"With the difference," Bail said, "that as far as I can tell, Shenio's actions have been totally legal." He held up a hand to forestall her protests. "Morally dubious and perhaps a bit shady, but all together, utterly within the legal boundaries. Even their demand to be named Planetary Administrator isn't against Republic law. There are more than a few planets who are being governed by the Corporate Guilds even now."

Padmé took a deep breath and tried to push her own feelings on the subject aside. Bail was right. While Shenio Mining's demands enraged the democrat within her, her more politically oriented side acknowledged that in the past, some planets had even done quite well under corporate rule.

"Alright, Bail, I take your point. Then let me ask this," and she turned her dark, exquisite eyes on the silent form of Yoda. "If this proposal is legal and has the support of a good number of senators, then why do you want us to oppose it? That is why you are here, isn't it Master Yoda? To ask Bail and me to speak against Shenio Mining in the Senate?"

"Yes," Yoda said and said no more for quite some time. Padmé and Bail exchanged a glance, as the ancient Jedi sat on the sofa, eyes closed and fingers slightly curled as they rested against his knees. Finally, Yoda opened his eyes and gazed long and hard at the two senators.

"Friends of the Order proven to be you two have," he said slowly. "So freely, I will speak. Difficult to see the dark side makes all, but violence there is in the Force when try to see Gaftikar I do. In the balance hangs peace for the people. Either way it might go. But believe I do that should support the Senate Shenio over the people, new war on the surface there might be. Time therefore I ask you to make, to catch the bomber."

"You want us to stall?" Bail asked, who'd apparently not been privy to this part of Yoda's plan. The Jedi nodded, his ears dipping lightly with the motion. His long speech – which was the most Padmé had ever heard him say before – seemed to have tired him.

_A frightening notion, _she thought, _considering how many people depend on him. _

"Is there anyone onplanet that is qualified to head such an investigation?" Padmé wondered.

Again, Yoda nodded. "Send Master Altis did, a Jedi investigator."

"A…Jedi investigator?" Padmé repeated the term hesitantly. She'd never heard of such a thing. But she had heard the name Altis before and found a swell of mixed feelings rising inside of her. Anakin had told her of his meeting with the unorthodox Jedi during the Battle of JanFathal. The discovery of Jedi who married – _married! – _and were not corrupted by the dark side as a consequence had been shocking for the both of them. Anakin had been clearly conflicted by this revelation, but Padmé also remembered the respect and warmth in her husband's voice when he'd talked about the eccentric old Jedi.

"I've heard of such a thing," Bail said, interrupting Padmé's thoughts. "Almost a decade ago now, a ring of spice dealers operating within Alderaan's system were arrested. I never met the Jedi who was involved in the arrest, but I was told that he was a Jedi investigator."

"So, they're basically police officers who can use the Force?" Padmé asked.

Yoda shifted in his seat, one clawed finger tapping against his knee, clearly not pleased by her analogy. "Simplified that is," he said, with a hint of reproach in his voice. "Use the Force they do to infiltrate and seek information. Steeped in danger, always they are."

_So more like spies than police, _Padmé concluded, but this time, kept her thoughts to herself.

"But that does mean he or she is certainly qualified for this type of operation," Bail smoothly interjected. "A Jedi who specializes in solving crimes. It's perfect. We can certainly argue for a delay in reaching a final decision with a bargaining chip like that. And the Jedi," Bail inclined his head respectfully towards Master Yoda, "are currently in high standing with the Senate, after the victory at Mon Cala."

Padmé pushed back another strand of hair, thinking carefully. "It might be enough," she said. "But we should come up with more arguments, just in case. And we need more senators on our side. I'm sure Mon Mothma would support us in this, as would Senator Farr."

Bail nodded his support. "But it all hinges on capturing that bomber. With him out of the way, it would allay a lot of the fear from the Senate and it would show that the civilian government has things in hand."

Bail turned towards Yoda. "Do you believe this Jedi investigator is up to the task?"

Yoda closed his eyes again, but nodded serenely. "Knew her, I did, as a youngling at the Temple. Strong, her will to protect is. Believe she will capture the culprit, I do."

Padmé's jaw nearly dropped in astonishment at what amounted to downright effusive praise from the Jedi Master. _And if he can say so much good about a Jedi who's not even part of his Order, why can't he bring himself to say the same about Anakin? _

"Wonderful," Bail said and smiled for the first time that night. "That's more than enough reassurance for me. Padmé?"

"What? Oh…yes, of course," Padmé hastily added.

"Great, then that's settled. Padmé, we should start calling up members of the Loyalist Committee. I think that's our best bet, for now, to rally some support."

Master Yoda nimbly jumped off of the sofa and, gimer stick in hand, inclined his head towards the two senators. "Leave you then, I will. Know that this matter in good hands is, I do."

"You can count on us, Master Yoda," Bail assured the wizened Jedi and rose to escort him out of the apartment. Padmé did the same and the three made their way back to the door.

Just before exiting her apartment, Yoda looked back at the two Humans, his eyes grave. "Tell you not I will, how difficult the task might be. But know, that a debt of gratitude you are owed, by the people of Gaftikar." He paused for a moment, then added, "And the Order. May the Force be with you."

And before either Padmé or Bail could reply, the small form of Master Yoda was out the door and out of their view.

"Well," Bail said, clearly astonished. "That was new."

"Yes," Padmé said quietly, equally taken aback by the Jedi's statement. He'd always seemed so reserved towards non-Jedi before, especially politicians.

"You know," Bail said thoughtfully, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, "this could be a new trend. I've noticed a definite softening in Obi-Wan towards our kind as well. Who knows? Maybe before long, we'll be getting gift baskets from the Temple."

Padmé laughed at the unlikeliness of this image and the two senators went at their sobering task smiling, working late into the night and the early dawn hours. Neither planned on betraying the confidence Yoda had shown in them, nor the shaky trust of the Gaftikari in the Republic.

* * *

_Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (25 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Wess patched up Owen without a problem, though he was blushing through most of the procedure thanks to Ro's rather suggestive nerf herder jokes. Gaff, who'd insisted on overseeing the entire thing, had looked like he would spontaneously combust at any moment. Clearly, he'd never thought that Jedi knew dirty jokes. Owen didn't fully understand most of them, but the medic's reactions and Ro's antics were enough to distract the boy from his worries about his father and his fear of the clones.

Ro then insisted on bringing Owen home personally and Gaff, who had to stay to oversee procedures at the base, had ordered Notch and Fince to accompany them. Ro had almost asked for Wren instead, but had thought better of it. She still wasn't ready to confront the temperamental clone again; in her current state, she just might hit him again if he pushed her and she'd had enough emotional baggage for one day.

Returning Owen to his family was uneventful, something Ro and the troopers with her were thankful for. It had been a long day for everyone.

Owen's mother turned out to be a thin woman, who was going grey before her time and with a mouth pinched in constant agitation. She asked no questions of Ro, merely hugging her son to her and then leading him back into the house wordlessly. She no more than glanced in Ro's direction. Clearly, Mrs. Kezner knew who she was and what her role had been in her husband's arrest. Ro'd found she was too tired to care.

By the time the three of them got back to the base it was dark and Ro was ready to fall down dead. In the two years since she'd started learning under Eda and Shiv, Ro's mental and physical stamina had improved tremendously, but for the past two days she'd been straining herself and doing so with little sleep in-between. She was beginning to scrape at the bottom of her endurance.

Climbing out of the speeder wearily, Ro rubbed at her eyes and considered crawling to bed. She wasn't sure if her legs could hold her up much longer. The crash she'd been staving off was finally coming to pass.

"Ah…Padawan Ro? A moment of your time, please?" It was Notch, the more outspoken of the two.

Ro turned towards the two troopers, who were still standing by the speeder where they'd parked it in the base's garage, looking for all the world like two boys who'd been asked to recite their lessons in front of the entire class. She almost winced at the sight of such unfettered awkwardness in two grown men.

"Sure," she said and found a smile for the two of them. "You can have two."

"We just…well…" Notch seemed to have lost some of his nerve and he glanced at Fince as if for encouragement.

"About earlier today," Fince said. "What you did for us."

"And for me, especially," Notch interjected.

"And with the sergeant…" Fince went on.

Ro, understanding where this was going, held up a hand and the two troopers went silent. "I know what you're trying to say and I appreciate it, but you don't have to. I like to help," and she gave them each a warm smile. "I'm just glad that I could."

She could feel their continued apprehension and knew that she couldn't just leave it at that. Taking a step closer, she put a light hand on Notch's arm. "What happened at Drezd'any Street, there's no shame in that. It just shows that you're Human."

"Human," Notch echoed, as if he weren't sure if that term even applied to him.

"Yes," she said and fought to keep her smile from wobbling. How often had she listened to Callista and Geith and the rest of the Altisians argue about the meaning of humanity and how the term was denied the clones? To see even this little glimpse of confirmation hurt her more deeply than she ever could have guessed. Could someone as transcendently good and decent as Notch really have doubted his own humanity?

"Human," Ro echoed and glanced at Fince as well. "We're all Human, which means it's alright to grieve when you lose someone and it's alright for that grief to upset, whether mentally or physically. And…" she hesitated, then added, "And it also means it's alright to lose your temper."

"You mean the sergeant," Fince stated.

Notch's head tipped slightly back, as if beneath his helmet he were rolling his eyes at his brother. Ro didn't hear him say anything, but from his body language she thought he might have said something to Fince over their comlinks in their helmets.

Ro was about to excuse herself again, when both troopers went rigid, their heads at a slight angle, in what Ro thought was a pose of intense listening. Again, she heard nothing. _That's gonna get real old, real fast, _she thought, a little put out at being kept out of the loop.

Fince and Notch exchanged a look, then turned back towards Ro.

"Padawan Ro, the commander wanted to let you know that there'll be a short assembly on the parade grounds in ten minutes, for…" Notch swallowed and Ro thought she could hear a tiny hitch in his voice; certainly there'd been one in his emotional aura. "For Sergeant Fallout and the rest of his squad. If you'd like to attend?"

An invitation to a memorial service had been the last thing Ro had expected and it took her a moment to think of a response. "That's very kind," she said diffidently, her eyes going from one trooper to the other. She could feel their _respect _and _liking _towards her and she sensed that she would not be unwelcome, but at the same time…she would be.

Ro had learned a little bit about F Company during her three days here, one of which being that these men had known each other for ten years; their entire lives. This was the first time they'd lost someone close to them and she was keenly aware that in this case, she was most definitely an outsider. She'd only be intruding on their mourning, her presence placing certain restraints on these men and besides, she'd not even known the sergeant, except for the brief glimpse she'd had of him in the Force. Ro thought he might have been someone she would have liked, but still, going to a memorial for people she hadn't even known when alive seemed to her…disrespectful and…voyeuristic.

So she smiled at these two men, put her hands on both their arms and politely refused. "This is your time," she told them. "Thank Commander Gaff for me for the invitation, but I won't intrude. Goodnight and…" she bit her lip, hesitated for a moment, then added, "_Imi pare, f'oarte rau-pi'derera." _It was Dantarian; the language of the native Dantari of Dantooine and the best way Ro knew how to express her sympathy over their grief.

Ro slipped out of the hangar without another word to Fince and Notch. She didn't think she could bring herself to say more. Her heart felt too heavy as the day's events fully began to register with her. All that death? And for what?

Ro dragged herself back to the _Mockingbird, _where she was greeted by an anxious Artee, who, in contrast to his regular habit, waited for her in the hangar bay instead of the cockpit. Seeing her little droid, Ro went to one knee and hugged his solid, round body to her. It didn't matter that the metal body was cold and unyielding beneath her; what mattered was that here was someone who cared and worried and whom she cared and worried about in return. Artee was her friend and she needed a friend right now.

His domed head spinning lightly to get a better view of her, Artee tootled worriedly at her. "I'm alright, mostly," she said and her voice was thick with unshed tears. "But it was bad, Artee. Really bad. A lot of people died today and got hurt and I lost my temper and hit someone."

She pressed her cheek against the cool metal of his head. Artee held still for a moment or two, probably processing her actions and comparing them to other, similar events in his memory banks, to search for a reverence point. Finally, with another series of beeps and chirps, he suggested that the best course of action for her to take was to replenish her energy cells via a thorough cleaning and refueling, after which she should power down and recharge for at least 8.7 hours.

His logical processing made her smile and she gave him a quick kiss on the domed head. "You're absolutely right, Artee," she told the droid.

The little astromech chirped in agreement. Of course he was right. He was, after all, a droid.

With another smile at Artee, Ro made her weary way towards her ship's 'fresher, shedding her ruined clothes along the way. She couldn't wait to get clean and finally fall asleep. Hopefully, there'd be no dreams for her tonight.

* * *

Artee quickly raised the loading ramp, then followed Ro, picking up her discarded soft coverings along the way. A quick scan of the material told the droid that there was little to be salvaged of his Human's exterior covering, but he removed the various little tools Ro kept in her myriad of pockets, before dumping the clothes down the recycler.

Then, with the water from the shower starting to run, Artee began to gather the necessary nutrients and proteins his Human would need to refill her depleted power source. Plugging his scomp link into one of the various small computer terminals scattered throughout the ship, Artee activated the jukebox function and selected a variety of Ro's favorite songs, ensuring that the decibel range and beat frequency would encourage the production of endorphins and melatonin.

With a last scan of the galley to satisfy himself that all was as it should be, Artee trundled back to the ladder leading up to the cockpit and used his repulsors to lift himself up. Once more in his favorite spot of the ship, the little astromech plugged himself into the ship's mainframe and took over all security functions of the vessel, as well as creating a direct link-up to the life support monitoring programs, redirecting 11.843% of his computing power to the measuring of Ro's vital signs.

The little droid would make sure that his Human would have the required rest to restore optimal function capability. That was a promise you could take to the Maker.


	21. Chapter 20: Ghosting

**Author's Note: **This chapter heavily references events from "On Wings of Silver and Lead", which is the first installment of the _Mockingbird _series. If you haven't done so already, I suggest reading "Wings" at some point. It might clear up some things.

* * *

**Ghosting**

"_Who said nights were for sleep?" _

_- Marilyn Monroe_

* * *

He paced in the darkness, his exultation too powerful to contain. What glory, what beauty he had unleashed today. It sent shivers down his spine.

His hands wandered restlessly across his body; stroking his clothes into place, running through his hair, skipping across the few items in his kill nest. Again and again his eyes traveled to the collection of screens. They were filled with images of his art. Wherever he looked, flames danced across the flatscreens; powerful, glorious, furious…._hungry. _

He was shaking with emotions so intense, he felt as if in a fever. He knew he was here for a specific purpose, but for now, he could not recall what it had been. His eyes could only take in the fire and the sheep: the fire that fed and the sheep that burned and died and suffered.

And for once, The Rational did not interfere in his fixation. There were no whispered warnings in his mind, no words of logic to dampen his animalistic euphoria. He was free to float on his success, because The Rational was thinking.

It had been near silent since yesterday, which had allowed him to reveal this masterpiece today. Without The Rational in the back of his mind to restrain his actions, he was a rabid dog free to indulge in his bloodlust. And he was hungry_hungryhungryhungry_

He had to go back. He needed to see it again, even if only the ashes remained now. Breathing in the last remnants of the heat he had created would be enough to bring him back to that moment of glorious revelation. He would only need to smell the memory of the smoke-heavy air, feel the ash running through his fingers to see what he had done as if it were still happening.

Yes, he would go. Right now. He turned to go, then stopped, waiting. Waiting for the familiar voice of The Rational to speak, to advise him, judge him. But it remained silent. It was still thinking, still searching for answers. It had spotted something that had upset it greatly yesterday, and The Rational was determined to find out what it was. So it was preoccupied. Which left him to do as he pleased without it to govern his actions.

He smiled and left the dim light of the screens behind to disappear into the darkness. In the empty kill nest, the images of flaming death continued on an endless loop, with only the darkness as a witness now.

* * *

_The parade grounds, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (25 – 26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

The parade grounds were fully lit, the stark whiteness of the searchlights creating sharply defined patterns of shadows and illumination.

Those troopers that were off-duty at the moment – and Gaff had tried to make that as many as possible – were gathered on the precisely cut lawn, grouped in a loose half-circle in front of the officers.

The searchlights washed over them, the whiteness of the light blending with the white armor, making the troopers gleam a little. Behind them, their shadows stretched backwards, elongated until they were nearly unrecognizable as human-shaped, their tops disappearing into the settling night beyond.

Gaff thought it rather looked like a company of ghost soldiers were standing in attendance behind their living brothers and felt a shiver run down his spine. Where had such fanciful thoughts come from, all of a sudden?

He focused his attention on the living men about him, his brown eyes sweeping those under his command. "Buckets off," he called, his voice carrying easily through the silent night.

In a single synchronized movement, over a hundred troopers released their helmet seals and placed the buckets at their feet. Though Gaff couldn't see them, he knew that the other officers, grouped behind him, had done the same.

Gaff swept the assembled crowd, his eyes lingering this time over every face. He knew these men; had known them since his time in the crèche. This was F Company, whom he had trained with, bled with, laughed and sweated with for ten years.

There was Deek, who tended to mash all of his food into one pile, before shoveling it into his mouth.

He saw Fince and Notch, standing side by side, the first in F Company to declare themselves brothers by choice.

Mekk was standing next to Ezec, who looked dourer than ever and was scowling at the tips of his boots. Mekk on the other hand, was glancing anxiously from one trooper to the next, biting his lower lip as if he wanted to ask one of his continuous questions, but knew exactly that doing so now would only get him into trouble.

There was Sikker, who talked boisterously about women, but privately preferred the company of his brothers. And Lopo who had a fancy for Mon Cala ballet and two of his larty pilots, Radar and Gos, who were always betting with each other about anything that would come into their minds.

In the crowd of faces, so similar and yet so different, he could name each and every one of his men, their likes and dislikes, their strengths and weaknesses.

To his right stood Kase; straight-backed and rigid, a man who loved the rules, but had little imagination and never mourned that fact. A good brother to have at his side; a rock to lean on, if a commander had need of such a thing.

And to his left was Wess, exhausted and a little heartsick over recent events. A man who put the well being of others before his own, always.

These were good men and they were his men: his to command, to lead and to keep safe on the battlefield. And today, he had failed ten of them.

Despite the attendance of so many living, he could not help but notice the absence of those ten. They'd never stand before him again, he would never talk to them again, never again listen to Pryce's growing collection of jokes or reprimand Tri, Lim and Spotter for sneaking off to play limmie. They were irretrievably gone; their bodies incinerated at the local morgue with the rest of today's dead. Gaff could have insisted on having the bodies transferred to the base, but it had seemed fitting to him to have the physical remains of his men incinerated along with the other victims. They had died together in a blaze, so let them go to their final resting place together in another fire. Besides, it had been a more dignified process than putting the bodies through the base's recyclers, as protocol demanded.

He banished the memories of that shiny white morgue from his mind and finished his visual sweep of his remaining men. He cleared his throat, making sure that he had everyone's attention. He'd put a lot of thought into this, including wondering if he should call this assembly in the first place. On the frontlines, he knew, there would be no time to mourn the dead; to gather as a unit like this and take a few precious minutes out of their schedules to be together in their mutual grief. Out on a battlefield, such sentimentality would most likely get even more of his troopers killed. Bunch up like this and they were nothing but a target.

What had convinced him of the idea was the realization that they _weren't _on the frontlines at this moment. F Company had the unique luxury of time and Gaff was determined to make the best usage of that. In the past, he'd given his men extra time off, shuffling shifts and duties for each squad. Now, he would use the time to pay his respects to Fallout and his squad.

"You all know why we are here," he told the waiting troopers. "Today, we lost ten of our brothers. Sergeant Fallout and his men may not have died in the line of fire," Gaff mentally winced at the idiom, but continued on without a pause, "but they did die in the performance of their duty."

Some of the gathered troopers nodded, others stared down at the buckets at their feet or at one another. This was hard on them, Gaff knew. It was hard on him. F Company had never lost a brother before, not in all their years together on Kamino. Somehow, Gaff couldn't help but feel as if this were his fault. He was their commander; he was responsible for them. He should have found a way to keep his men – all of his men – safe and alive. Another part of him – the cool, professional part – told him that it hadn't been his fault. F Company's luck had to run out eventually and realistically, there'd been no way for Gaff to predict today's vicious attack. This was war and men died in war, that was the truth. But that didn't stop the crushing pain of loss or the heavy agony of failure. He would just have to learn to live with it and carry on for the rest of his men. The realization had hit him today that he might very soon have to do this again, once F Company was sent to the frontlines.

"We won't forget our brothers," Gaff went on, noticing he'd been silent for too long. "And we won't forget their sacrifice. Because of these ten brothers, a group of children is alive today and I think we all know that is something our brothers would have been proud of to be remembered for."

Murmured agreement from some, tearing eyes from others. Gaff looked at his men and felt a weight settle on his shoulders and a hard fist clench inside his chest. _How long? _He wondered. _How long until I look about and see more empty spaces where brothers should be? _

_For as long as I can make it, _he answered himself and raised his chin defiantly to the night and the creeping shadows about the ring of troopers. He was their commander and he would fight for his men, even if it meant outsmarting death itself. That was his duty.

"_Ni su'cuyi,_" he called out into the night, remembering the words taught to him by Alpha-17.

"_Ni su'cuyi!_" came the answering cry from the troopers about him.

"_Gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum!_"

Again, the gathered clones repeated his words, the chant gaining in force as the troopers voiced their grief, anger and fear through the words.

Gaff took a deep breath, then added the final piece of the ancient Mandalorian remembrance. "Fallout! Lim! Tresh! Spotter! Tri! Fok! Kyri!"

The names reverberated around him, echoing through the parade grounds as the rest of F Company repeated the names of their fallen brothers. Around them, the shadows trembled, as if in fright.

"Orar! Tal! Pryce!"

The last name lingered in the air, as if reluctant to vacate the area. A silence began to settle over the parade grounds as every trooper there paused to listen to the echoes of those names. A last roll call for the dead.

Gaff lowered his head in respect, letting that silence settle itself over the troopers, blanketing them as he remembered his lost men, honoring them in the privacy of his own mind. He would say those names every night, until the day he was killed and he would do so for every other trooper. It was his duty as commander to honor his fallen.

"_Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la!" _He said more quietly this time, letting the ancient Mando'a sink into the silence, rather than breaking it.

But his men heard nevertheless. Kase was the first to repeat the words, quickly followed by Wess and the other officers. The rest of F Company followed suit, repeating the words like a healing chant.

_Not gone, merely marching far away. _

Outside of the circle of light cast by the searchlights, the shadows flickered and waned behind the troopers, holding their own silent vigil.

* * *

_Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adic, ni partayli, gar darasuum. _

The words made Wren shiver.

_I am still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal. _

He'd learned those words so many years ago, when he'd just been a cadet. Back then, when he'd still been Alpha-20, those words had held an almost mystical power over him. He'd thought, at the time, that they sounded powerful. It had been a promise between brothers and to Alpha-20, who'd later be nicknamed Wrench by his dearest brother, there'd been nothing better in the entire galaxy.

But he was no longer that boy. Alpha-20 had died along with his brother Asher, and Wrench had soon followed suit. He was a man now, exiled from the life he'd been bred for, caught in a world that even after three years still appeared strange to him sometimes.

And as a man – as _Wren _– he hated those words with a passion. He hated the sound they made, hated the way they rolled off of a trooper's tongue and most of all…he hated what they stood for.

Standing in the entrance to the base, concealed by the shadows, Wren watched F Company mourn their dead and felt old, bitter memories rise inside of him like bile.

Remembrance. It was such a joke. It was supposed to be a pact between close comrades and friends, a means of always honoring that person and keeping their memory close. For the clones, particularly those who'd grown up steeped in the Mandalorian culture, saying remembrance for a dead brother had been a certainty, a promise made by boys who had no other family.

But no one had ever said remembrance for Asher. After Wren had dragged himself back to the ARCs' barracks – bleeding and bruised after his fight with Fett – no one had asked where he'd been or where Asher – Alpha-19 – was. When the cadets had woken the next morning and had seen that Asher's sleep bunker was still empty, they hadn't asked his closest brother about it. They'd known what had happened. Alpha-19 had been measured and found wanting and had been terminated by the Kaminoans as a result. And no one had ever said his name again. Not in casual conversation, not late at night and certainly not in remembrance.

Wren knew, because he'd spent his days and nights listening for the sound of Asher's name on the lips of his brother ARCs.

It had been the same when, years later, Wren's only other close brother, Thrush, had died by his own hand. There'd never been a confirmed report and Wren, the only witness to the act, had been ordered on pain of reconditioning to remain silent on the matter. But in a close environment like Tipoca, there'd been no chance of keeping a clone's suicide secret for long. There'd been rumors and speculations; nebulous, but enough to cast doubts upon Thrush's memory. He'd never been mentioned in anyone else's remembrance either, as far as Wren knew. Not even by the few men who had survived the training accident that had decimated Thrush's company. Again, he knew this, because he'd been listening for it.

Wren didn't say remembrance. He didn't need it. He needed no words to remind him of his dead brothers. They were with him every day, every waking moment and more often than not in his dreams as well. Wren _was _their remembrance. As long as he lived, his brothers – disgraced in the eyes of other clones and forcefully forgotten – would be remembered.

What were empty words and promises compared to that?

_And what do these kriffing shinies need Mando'a for, anyway, _he thought savagely as the last of the names faded into the night. These grunts hadn't been raised by Mandalorians, but by Kaminoan overseers, flash training and whatever other bounty hunters Fett had managed to scrape together.

The only valid bit of Mandalorian culture they'd ever been taught was _Vode An _and even that had been flash trained into them. The rest had just trickled down from the commandos and ARCs. If the grunts thought that reciting a few phrases in Mando'a made them anything but clones, then they were sorely mistaken. You couldn't change what you were.

The chant had quieted down and silence now blanketed the lit parade grounds, but Wren found the silence almost as abrasive as the chanting earlier. All these memories coupled with the events of today made him feel restless and agitated. He felt caged, standing here in this base full of equipment and troops that weren't really needed to do this job. What was he doing here except wasting what time he had left?

_You were being useful when you were helping the Jedi, _a treacherous voice whispered at the back of his mind. And hadn't he felt more alive in those instances than he'd had in the two months he'd been stuck on this backwater boondocks of a planet?

_It doesn't effing matter, _he thought at the voice. _She chose fekking Gaff over me. _

It was the wrong thing to recall at that moment, because the memory of her walking away from him with Gaff's hand on the small of her back just made him want to hit something.

No longer able to contain the rage inside of him, Wren turned towards the nearest solid thing at hand: the wall next to the entrance. With a barely suppressed snarl, Wren kicked the wall, then followed the motion with a quick jab and a punch. Both his hands sang from the collision and Wren felt the blood pound in his veins, the buzz in his head as his rage finally surfaced.

He hated this. He hated everything. He hated this base for its uselessness; hated the Gaftikari for their pettiness; hated the troopers for their false faiths and brotherhood; hated the bomber for killing; hated ten men for dying on a simple patrol.

And he hated _her. _Hated her for walking into his life and reminding him of what it felt like to be useful. He hated her for making him laugh again. He hated her for her laughter and her smiles. But most off all, he hated her for turning her back on him.

The sensation of something running over his right hand brought him back. Wren brought the hand closer to his face, narrowing his eyes to see better in the darkness. There was blood on his hand. It ran over his knuckles, coated his fingers and was slipping between the cracks and onto his palm. The blood was practically black from where he was standing in the shadows.

Reflexively, Wren glanced down and around him, but there was no commando lying dead at his feet, his face battered into an unrecognizable pulp by his fists. Wren closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to get himself back under control. When he felt his pulse dropping closer to normal, he opened his eyes again and examined his hand more critically. The blood was his, the skin along the knuckles was torn open. His left hand was in no better condition. He looked at the wall and saw smears of his blood along one area. He touched the stains with two fingers and felt a definite hollow in the prefab.

He had to get out of here.

Not for the first time did it occur to Wren that he could simply pack his gear and go AWOL. The kriff knew there'd be no one here who wouldn't love to see the last of him and his ARC training would make it easy. He could be systems away before they'd even know he was gone and then have three dozen false trails to follow. He could do it.

But what was really out there for him? He had skills, but in the greater galaxy, the only thing those skills qualified him for was either mercenary or bounty hunter work.

He'd never be a bounty hunter. Jango Fett had called himself the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy and Wren would never touch anything that Fett had once called his own. Besides, Mandalorians dominated that trade and he hated Mandos almost as much as he hated their former leader.

And what was the difference between being a mercenary and being a soldier? Nothing, other than that he would be paid.

In the end, Wren decided to stay out of the same reasons he always did. The GAR was his meal ticket. He might not have any rights, but the Republic provided him with food, shelter and all the blasters and explosives he could possibly want. And all they wanted in payment was his life. It was a bargain he could live with. As a merc, he'd have to deal with competition, with finding employment, catering to the employer. And he'd always be looking over his shoulder for the Republic and whatever watchdogs they sent after AWOL clones. Because Wren wasn't anywhere naïve enough to believe that the Republic would just let him disappear. He was their property and this war was a pretty good example of the Republic's issue with letting go of things that belonged to it.

So he was here to stay. But he had to get out of the base.

Wren ducked into the darkened corridors, making his way to his barracks with only the red emergency lights to illuminate the way for him. There was no one else in the corridors. Aside from the three troopers in the MTCC, everyone still on the base was assembled on the parade ground.

Wren slipped into the barracks, made his way to his bunk and pulled out his backpack. The pack was already stocked with his gear. Wren kept himself battle ready at all times, so he only had to slip the pack onto his back and he was ready to go.

He'd considered going into the city, blowing off steam with some woman and then wandering the streets, looking for GFH. With Kezner incarcerated, those whacks were certain to be restless and a lone clone would be a tempting target. But the city was also heavily patrolled tonight by both clones and police and he'd seen the grid plans. The pattern was tight and he didn't want to spend his free hours dodging patrols.

He wanted to…no, needed to hit something. Something hard and something that could fight back and he wanted to do so repeatedly. And there was only one place where he could get that.

Wren went through the base like a ghost.

No one saw him. In his first week on Gaftikar he'd perfected a program that would allow him, via his HUD, to delete any footage the security cams might have of him and replace it with shots of the empty corridor. Technically, the program was unnecessary, seeing that he kept his wanderings mostly to his off-duty hours and he was supposed to be free to do as he liked during that time. But using the program, making sure that he slipped away unnoticed was part of the challenge and he didn't want anyone finding out where he went. That was private and in a world where privacy mostly existed inside of your head, it was a precious commodity. And Wren intended to guard it well.

Once outside of the base, he kept to the shadows, working his way towards the security fence and the southeastern gate. Slicing through the security lock was easy and the little door opened on silent hinges.

Wren hesitated for a moment, staring into the darkness beyond the fence, then glancing back over his shoulder at the brightly lit parade ground. Just to the side of the grounds, half-lit by the searchlights, he could make out the outlines of the _Mockingbird. _

His eyes swept over the starship's sleek lines, admiring the crescent shape of the wings. She looked fast and she looked mean; a starship ready for anything. Whoever had built her had known what he was doing.

Having gotten a last glance at the ship, Wren ducked out of the gate and headed towards the looming forest at a loping gait. The scorched and chipped white of his armor briefly flashed in the reflected glow of the base's lights and then he was gone, swallowed by the darkness and the trees.

* * *

_Onboard the _Mockingbird…

Ro tossed and turned in restless sleep, her mind plagued by half-formed impressions of the last days, fleeting images, snippets of phrases and meaningless words.

After a short meal, she had basically fallen into bed, taking only the time to pull on a nightshirt. She'd been out like a light before she'd even hit the mattress. Her exhaustion had granted her a few hours of deep, dreamless sleep, but now that the worst of her body's fatigue had been taken care of, her subconscious was busy trying to make sense of everything that had happened since she'd come here.

Too many things didn't add up and what her waking mind hadn't had the opportunity to address, her subconscious was now trying to puzzle out.

With a low moan, Ro threw herself to the side, her face contorting into a grimace.

…_.hot, everything was so hot….no way this fire is detonite based…why can't I feel you?...Nothing Man…he's a Nothing Man…the others never saw him…the plastoid had melted to reveal the trooper's cheek…the stink of burned flesh and bone….Wren's head snapped to the side with the force of her slap...Nothing Man….Nothing Man…._

It was Owen's voice, repeating those words over and over again that finally wrenched her awake. Gasping, she lay perfectly still. For a moment, Ro was overcome with a terrible sense of disorientation as she tried to recall where she was. It seemed as if all the planets she'd ever traveled to had conspired to melt into a single entity that was all of them and none of them at the same time.

Fighting down a rising sense of panic, she finally remembered. _Gaftikar. I'm on Gaftikar. Gaftikar is the third planet in the Gaftikar system, located in the Kalamith sector, which is part of the Bright Jewel oversector, in the Outer Rim Territories. Grid coordinates are P-5. _

Those hard, unassailable facts were so comforting that she repeated them out loud four times, while staring fixedly at the ceiling of her cabin. Like all of the ceilings in the _Mockingbird, _Ro had painted it over with a glittering scene of stars. In this case, she was staring at an accurate rendering of the Ansionian summer night sky, when the Hunter stalked the shanh and a flock of kyren stretched along the heavens in a band so thick, it was impossible to recognize individual creatures. The painted stars on her ceiling glowed slightly, just like real stars and their soft light soothed away the last remnants of her uneasy sleep.

But it also meant she was wide-awake now and with a sigh, Ro swung her legs over the edge of the bed and mentally prepared herself to face another day. She wasn't nearly as rested as she would have liked, but taking stock of her condition she realized that the worst of her fatigue had been dealt with.

Ro began rummaging through the drawers under her bed, looking for suitable clothing. Artee would have, no doubt, already dealt with the things she'd worn….what? Earlier today? Yesterday?

She glanced at the chrono. One o'clock in the morning, Gaftikar time. Yesterday, then.

Anyway, she'd ruined another set of clothes. Eda was going to kill her.

Ro pulled out a long-sleeved, indigo shirt with orange borders and pants in dark russet. She fingered the material thoughtfully. This particular set of garments was made from heavy, energy-absorbing fibers that afforded some protection from blaster shots. They'd been an expensive addition to her wardrobe, but had proven useful on a number of undercover missions. And maybe, if the clothes could absorb some of the heat from a plasma bolt, they would also stand up better to fire. And even if they didn't, at least they were easier to clean than anything else she had.

Ro took the clothes, left her cabin and quickly ducked into the 'fresher.

She was back out again in fifteen minutes, her freshly scrubbed hair crackling and Artee waiting for her in the corridor. The little droid beeped at her unhappily. According to his calculations, she had only slept a minimum of 5.42 hours and would require at least another 2.58 to return to maximum functionality.

"I know, Artee," she soothed the little droid and crouched down before him, fondly trailing her fingers along the krayt dragon twining itself about his rotund body. "But I'm too restless to sleep, right now. I promise, once this case is over, I'll take a little holiday and sleep all day long. And you can get a real oil bath. That sound good?"

The astromech tootled sullenly, but conceded that her proposal did, indeed, sound acceptable.

"Good," she said and smiled at him affectionately. "Then I'd better get my stuff, because the sooner I get to work, the sooner we can leave."

Mollified, Artee let her pass to her workroom, while he disappeared down the corridor towards the hangar, chittering to himself about checking the new security measures.

Ro suppressed a giggle. Wren's breaking into the _Mockingbird _had really rattled Artee, who'd always considered their security top of the line.

Thoughts of the clone, however, caused her to sober almost instantly. Sighing, she rubbed the side of her face. What was she going to do about him? Come to that, what was she going to do about _both _of them.

Wren's display of bullying temper and their subsequent fight aside, it had not escaped Ro that Gaff had grown to like her. _Like-_like her and it was getting to the point where she could no longer simply ignore his growing feelings for her. Her usual strategy in such a case would be to smile brightly and dash off to the next star system, but she liked Gaff too much to do that to him. Besides, it might leave him with the hope that there _could _be something between them, maybe and the truth was, that could never happen.

Ro was..._inhibited _when it came to matters of love and physical attraction. It wasn't just her own bad experiences in the area that drove her to avoid any such attachments, either.

When she'd still been a Padawan at the Temple, Ro had fallen head over heels in love with a boy during a mission to Tanaab with her former Master. In the throes of adolescence, Ro had given in to her feelings and her empathic powers had overwhelmed Tanib, subsuming his own personality and desires in favor of hers. She'd glamoured him and could have damaged him permanently if not for the interference of her Master, Jedi Knight Sarika Adriav.

The Zeltron woman had understood better than anyone the dangers of a powerful empath in the grip of passion and recognizing Ro's penchant for strong emotions and a heart capable of deep love - so like her own species - Master Adriav had instilled within her Padawan a mind-block that was activated whenever Ro was either subjugated to or in the midst of feeling very strong, intense emotions; love and desire being the main points of concern.

The mind-block had kept her from ever doing to others what Ro had accidentally done to Tanib, but it had also kept her from exploring that side of her. Ferocious migraines and a body that froze up like a gallaze caught in a hunter's sight were not conducive to romance. So she had to make it clear to Gaff that he was wasting his time with her, but at the same time, she dreaded revealing her knowledge of his feelings. He'd be so embarrassed to find out that she knew, seeing as he had never made any overt attempts to gain her affections.

Ro activated the lights to her workroom and despite herself she sighed heavily and felt her shoulders slump. It was the start of a new day and already her mind was plagued by death and two men, equal in good looks and so completely different in personality. And to top it all off, she still felt bad about slapping Wren, though he had deserved it.

She went over to a large, wooden cabinet, one of the many that lined the workroom's walls. Pulling it open, her fingers danced over her shoe collection, before pulling out a specific pair. These boots were made of spun-plast orthotic, a pliable material that made the boots soft and thereby ideal for sneaking about, but durable enough to withstand a vibroblade. She quickly pulled them on, then went through a series of drawers, pulling out equipment and lining it up on her worktable.

"Why should I feel bad?" she asked herself while she gathered her things. "He was acting like a complete rancor." She fiddled with a small black-light glowrod, testing the batteries. "And afterwards?" she argued in a more subdued tone. "It was like he just shut down. Everyone was on edge, something clearly hit a nerve with him and all you could do was attack him for it."

The black-light worked and she put it with the rest of her things. "Attack him for it?" she asked out loud, her voice once more bossy and gruff. "_He _literally attacked _me. _I had to defend myself, right there, in the middle of a crime scene, because he can't control his temper."

She pulled out her gunnysack and started carefully packing her things into it. With a sigh and slumped shoulders, she admitted, "I should apologize."

Then her shoulders straightened and her chin jutted out stubbornly. "He should apologize. He started it."

With a groan, Ro slapped a hand to her forehead. "Whether he should apologize or I, just be glad no one's around to hear you arguing with yourself like a lunatic," she muttered. Honestly, these self-debates were getting her nowhere.

Drawing the gunnysack closed, Ro thought about maybe taking a page from the Jedi handbook. Perhaps it was time to set aside personal feelings and relationships and focus solely on the task at hand. She should forget about Gaff's feelings for her and Wren's rage and hurt and just concentrate on trying to find the bomber.

"Yeah," she said to the empty air. "And right after that, I'll go figure skating on Mustafar. Being an empath sucks plasma."

She swung the gunnysack over her shoulder, then let her hands fall to her hips and her lightsabers, where they were clipped to her broad utility belt. She drew comfort from their solid weight, letting the slight pulsing of the crystals inside soothe her. Taking a deep breath, Ro calmed her mind and let go of her turmoil. She would address these things, but not right now. The more knives you juggled, the more likely it became that you'd drop one and cut yourself. She had to do one task at a time and do it well.

Feeling better, Ro went to the cargo hold, where she pressed her hand flat against one of the many durasteel plates. Part of the plate lit up green and there was the faint whirring of hidden servomotors as parts of the cargo hold's walls slid aside to reveal numerous hidden compartments. And all of them were filled with a wide variety of exotic weapons.

Ro went over to one compartment, which held a number of delicate items, all of which appeared to be jewelry at first glance. They were, in fact, deadly weapons, one and all. There was a collection of glittering earrings that were disguised garrotes or comm devices. There were three beautifully decorated fans, whose ribs were metal and sharpened to a point where they could slice bone. Two sets of mounted hair combs had teeth that ended in sharp points. Ro's fingers skipped along the row of hair ornaments, passing over the combs, as well as a headdress, whose bejeweled frame hid slim knives. Carefully, Ro took down two thin hair needles.

Made of durasteel and gilded with gold, with a blue gem at the end of each, these were Zenji needles, used by the Mystril Shadow Guards. The ten-centimeter long needles were, like everything else in the compartment, beautiful and deadly. Ro had practiced many hours until she could throw the needles with enough accuracy to put out someone's eye.

Putting the needles between her teeth, Ro reached back and gathered her long hair into a knot at the back of her head. Working carefully, she stuck the needles into the mass of hair, until she was sure that both were secure. A few stray strands of hair fell into her face, but Ro merely pushed them behind her ears.

She went over to the next compartment, filled with a wide variety of knives and slender blades. She took down several slim, flat knives that she tucked into her boots, in a harness at the small of her back, and the last in a sheath strapped between her shoulder blades. She fastened two spring-loaded, wrist-mounted knife sheaths to her forearms. Ro shook herself a little, letting her clothes settle back over her slight frame, so that the folds could naturally conceal the outlines of her weapons.

Thus armed, she felt better. It always paid to have extra weapons when you were skulking about in the night.

Telling Artee that she was leaving, Ro walked down the unsealed loading ramp and, with a quick glance at the now empty and dark parade grounds, she slipped off of the base and into the darkness of the early morning.

* * *

_Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing and 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Ro wandered through Eyat in the early morning hours, revisiting all of the bomb sites in order. She probably could have asked Gaff to loan her a speeder, but decided to walk or use the public transports. She was still reluctant to intrude on the clones' privacy after their recent loss.

She re-gathered the physical evidence she'd lost during the fire the day before yesterday and spent time at each site, searching through the Force for a trace of the bomber. It was an exercise in futility. There was nothing. No bubbling resentment, no broiling malevolence and no jagged triumph. It was as if the bomber had never even been here.

As she trudged towards the site of the residential bombing, Ro began to review her options. Could the rat have smuggled his bomb in on a transport? Unlikely as all of the vehicles coming in and out of the storage facilities were scanned and searched, doubly so at the compound that had housed the Shenio Mining hangar. The scanners would have picked up that much detonite.

Could he have programmed a droid to take the bomb inside? A droid would leave no emotional trace for her to follow, but again, it was unlikely. Gaftikar was a very new colony and the only droids they employed were the most basic working types; mostly automated harvesters and mining drones. They would have stuck out in the city and the same went for any other type of droid. Besides, although droids had no feelings that she could detect with her empathy, Ro was not Force-blind to them in the way other Jedi were. Her extreme sensitivity to other beings emotions made droids stand out in her awareness like points of static. Master Altis, who had developed several interesting techniques when it came to machines, had taught Ro how to fine-tune that ability, so that when she focused her empathy on droids, she got a sensation as if she were biting on tinfoil and the more advanced the droid, the more intense the feeling. Master Altis had stipulated that this was caused by the increased electrical activity droids with a higher AI needed to run their various personality programs. Either way, it meant that to Ro, a droid would have rung a bell of recognition in her awareness.

So what did that leave her with?

She surveyed what was left over from the three residential houses with a sinking feeling. There were three white hills, approximately four meters high and ten wide, where the buildings had once stood. The extinguishing foam had not yet been removed, because the fire department was both too busy and too afraid to reignite the unknown incendiary substance. She'd get no physical evidence from here, but Ro was an eternal optimist, so she did try. Clambering over all three of the hills, she searched for something that might help her.

She did find some pieces of charred cloth and organic matter, but when she ran her finds through her portable mass spec, she discovered that they all belonged to former residents or firefighters. There was more litter strewn about in the surrounding streets, but most of that were used bandages and empty bacta containers. No one had had the time yet to clean up after the rescue effort.

Looking about her to see if she'd missed anything, Ro took up a position at the centre of the site. Closing her eyes, she delved into the Force.

Two days ago, Ro had caught her first hint of the rat just seconds before the bomb had gone off in this neighborhood. It hadn't been much, just a brief slash of jagged and sour glee and anticipation across her awareness, but it had been powerful enough to draw her here from halfway across the city. The intensity and twisted nature of the emotions convinced here that she had indeed felt the bomber. She hoped that, with feelings so intense, he might have left a residual trail in the Force.

He had to have been here when the bomb had gone off, but at the time, Ro had been too busy with the rescue attempts to try and pinpoint his location. A lost opportunity, but one she didn't regret. Now, if only she could pick up his trail from here…

_There! _Ro's breathing hitched for a moment in excitement, then she quickly calmed herself as the tenebrous feelings flickered and almost escaped her awareness. Carefully, mental fingers sorted through the layers of emotions that wrapped around this location. Ro likened the sensation to a painting that had been painted over many times and her empathy was the solution that slowly stripped away the individual layers. She had to be careful, or else she might destroy the very layer she sought.

_Anticipation _that made her skin feel too small for her body. Childish _excitement. Pride….Hunger. _Ro gasped and double over, her arms clutching at her belly. _Hunger; _a hunger so intense that it made her stomach cramp and saliva flood her mouth. It was a hunger that was both mental and physical and it burned through her in a flash so acute, that if it had been a corporeal event, it would have left her temporarily blind.

And then it was gone, like dust scattered on the wind. Ro tried to chase after the feeling, but found only coldness.

_Coldness? s_he wondered, as she straightened and tried to compose her mind again. When had she ever felt coldness in the Force? Never. She'd never encountered an emotion that had created within her the sensation of coldness. Was it part of the bomber's trail or an effect of the disturbance in the Force created by the bomb? She didn't know. She only knew that she'd never come across that particular sensation in her other bombing cases.

Ro spent another half hour at the site, trying to pick up the bomber's scent again, but she finally had to admit defeat. It was gone.

"And you're stalling," she scolded herself. Then she sighed. "Yeah, I am. But can I blame me?"

She hefted her gunnysack again and walked through the city towards Drezd'any Street; the one place she really didn't want to go to.

As she walked, Ro noticed not for the first time how eerie Eyat felt at the moment. Other than the numerous patrols of police and soldiers – and she noticed that the cops currently outnumbered the troopers – there was absolutely no one about. The entire city felt like a tree-burrower hiding from a katarn, with every citizen holding his or her breath in anticipation of being eaten. It made her skin crawl and elicited a feeling of being short of breath.

When she finally reached the outer edges of the destruction zone that had once been a street in the shopping district, Ro had to stop and catch her breath, flinching a little as a barrage of intense, agonizing emotions came at her.

The Force nearly howled with all of the _pain, terror, fear, horror _and _disbelief. _A slight pulsing in her temples reminded Ro of the mind-block that guarded her from being overwhelmed by this onslaught. Going in there would probably give her a ferocious headache, but it was the freshest site and, unlike the residential site, it wasn't buried beneath tons of extinguisher foam. She might actually find something here, though Commissioner Gor'Dan and his people had already combed the area for physical evidence. Still, the Force might lead her to something they had missed.

Ro ducked beneath the holographic cordon, her boots swirling up clouds of earth and freshly settled ash. She pulled out a scanner from her gunnysack, taking air samples just to be sure, but the scanner assured her that, whatever had made the smoke from the fires so damaging, had long since dissipated into the air.

That was good to know. Putting the scanner back into her gunnysack, Ro decided that she would work her way from the point of origin outwards, in a spiral pattern. That would help her cover the most ground.

She made her way towards where the tapcaf used to be, working hard to ignore the maelstrom of emotions battering against her shields. So many people had died here. An estimated forty-eight had been in Drezd'any Street at the time of the explosion, though it was difficult to get exact numbers. Cebz had made a public appeal to report all missing persons, but so far, they were still waiting on a final tally. But eighteen people had died of severe injuries and shock, either at the hospitals or on their way there, including the Marit Ro had helped work on. That left the newest tally at a confirmed fifty-one dead, though the suspected number of dead ran to somewhere in the sixties. Such a tragedy wouldn't just go away and the Force could have a long memory.

When she reached the crater that was all that was left of the tapcaf, Ro pulled out her glowrod and shone the light about her. Dawn was just breaking and the shadows within the crater were still deep enough for her to need the extra illumination.

The police had done good work. The crater had been segregated into neat grids, each grid numbered and Ro could see several holo tags of varying color where they'd found some physical evidence. By now it had all been bagged and tagged and was no doubt being analyzed by Gaftikar's ERT's – Evidence Response Team. Ro nevertheless swept the area again, stepping carefully into each grid, following the small path that had been cleared. She found a few metallic pieces, but closer examination told her that they'd been part of the tapcaf's furniture or kitchen supplies. Like the ERTs, she passed them by.

When she reached what was left of the kitchen – the explosion's point of origin – Ro hunkered down in a grid empty of holotags, switched off her glowrod and closed her eyes.

Breathing steadily, Ro dared to open her shields just a crack. It was like trying to keep a bunker door only halfway closed during a tornado. The emotional turmoil about her ripped and tore at the shields like gale force winds, trying to pry them open further. Ro was barely aware of the sweat beginning to trickle down her face as she battled the emotions trying to batter her, while at the same time attempting to pick up something useful.

She got snatches of _wary contentment _and _bemused resignation, _which she thought might have belonged to the tapcaf owner. They certainly felt anchored to this place. But overlaying those feelings was _pain, surprise, incredulity, horror; _a thousand negative emotions from dozens of people of two species.

And then her mental probing stumbled across…._hunger. _

The sensation was so surprising it nearly made her fall over. Ro braced one hand against the debris and dirt littered ground, steadying herself physically as her awareness shot after that stray sensation. There was no mistaking that feeling, not after her so recent encounter with it at the residential block. She'd picked up her rat's trail again.

Opening herself further to the Force, Ro steadfastly ignored all other sensations and put her mental nose to the wind, sniffing after that elusive scent.

And she found the trail. There was _pride _and _glee_ and _triumph _and twining through it all was that ever-present, all consuming _hunger. _The emotions were twisted almost beyond recognition, like an abstract painting of melted circles and crooked triangles. They were a mockery of what another Human might feel and Ro, touching those strands of emotions, was sure now that it was a Human they were dealing with. All forensic reasoning aside, there was that distinctive Human feel to the pattern, something Ro associated with soft flesh and a general sense of self-importance.

And there was something else to those emotions, something she couldn't immediately put her finger on. Furrowing her brow in thought, Ro's eyes shifted from side to side beneath her lids as she tried to analyze what the Force was telling her.

These emotions were so intense…so powerful…so _fresh. _Far too fresh to be a day old. They felt immediate….and very close.

Ro's teal eyes flew open and she froze where she was, hunkered down on her haunches in the middle of a bomb crater.

The bomber was here with her, right now. And he was no more than a few meters away from her.


	22. Chapter 21: Hanging from the Lemon Tree

**Hanging from the Lemon Tree**

"_When life gives you lemons, skip the lemonade and go straight for the chocolate."_

_- Tracy Smith_

* * *

_Site of the sixth bombing, Drezd'any Street, main shopping district, city centre, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing and 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Ro barely dared to breathe as the realization sunk in that she was in immediate proximity to the bomber. There simply could be no other explanation for what she was feeling.

The emotions – _pride, glee, triumph _and that overwhelming sensation of _hunger _– were unmistakable. They were too jagged and twisted to belong to a mentally and emotionally healthy Human and they were too intense to be mere echoes left in the Force.

And they were moving.

Eyes staring into the empty space ahead of her, Ro tracked the emotions with her Force-empathy. She estimated that the bomber was no more than six, maybe seven meters away from her, at the other end of the tapcaf. As she was currently crouched in the middle of the crater, it was unlikely that the rat had seen her.

It was still early morning, with dawn barely breaking and the shadows cast inside of the crater were long and deep. She was well hidden from anyone walking along the ruined street.

But she couldn't stay here forever. This was a golden opportunity to catch the rotten rat that had killed over sixty people, most of them in the last two days. And he'd been wily so far, so that meant there was no telling when such a chance would reoccur. Ro had to act, but if she dashed out now she'd startle him into flight for sure and there was no telling whether or not he was armed. She was at a definite disadvantage. To chase after him, she'd have to climb the lip of the crater, which gave him the higher ground and he'd see her before she would see him. Ro was a fast draw with her lightsabers and highly agile, but she recognized a stupid risk when it was leering down at her. She had to approach this a different way.

The thoughts raced through her mind in a matter of seconds and she hit on a plan almost immediately. She couldn't avoid having him see her, but she could make sure that he was unaware that she knew he was there.

Making her movements as natural as possible, Ro pulled out her glowrod, activated it and began sweeping the light about, just as she would when searching for evidence.

The illumination cast by the glowrod was strong and in the weak dawn light and the surrounding shadows inside of the crater, it was like a beacon. The bomber couldn't help _but _see it.

And he did. Ro felt serrated _surprise, _coupled with mangled _agitation _overshadow his previous emotions. She tried listening for his footsteps, but the loose earth that had smothered the fire muffled all but the most persistent of sounds.

Ro felt the bomber distance himself from her quickly as she began to move from grid to grid, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground to keep up the appearance that she was merely looking for evidence and not at all aware of being observed. If she could lull him into a false sense of security...

She felt him come to a rest further away from the tapcaf, in the direction of some of the side streets, rather than the main road. He'd distanced himself, but he wasn't running away. _Surprise _was usurped by a deep _resentment _and a _wariness _that bordered on the animalistic. The man - and the Force let her know it _was _a man - felt very much like a rock-vulture startled away from the carcass it had been feeding on; resentfully watching at a distance until it had gauged the potential threat of another carrion eater. All in all, the bomber left a presence in Ro's mind very much like the smell of rotten meat and dried blood. The sensation was so strong she almost gagged. Force, how much humanity did this guy actually have left in him? Not much, judging by the fact that she felt not even an iota of guilt, shame or any sympathy at all from him for the destruction he'd caused.

The man was a total sociopath. That wasn't good, she thought, as she went through the motions of picking her way through the sparse debris left at the bottom of the crater. If he felt absolutely no connection whatsoever with other sentient beings, if he was devoid of a conscience, then that meant he wouldn't hesitate at causing even more deaths. It simply wouldn't matter to him who or how many died; all he would care about was his own gratification.

_What an empty bit of a Nothing Man he is, _Ro thought and pushed down her rising disgust at his creeping, warped Force-signature. The rat had definitely taken up an observation post instead of running and she needed to concentrate on keeping her movements smooth and unhurried. If he ran now, there was no way for her to catch up with him.

Slowly, doing a meticulous scan of each grid before moving on, taking samples for show, she moved towards the edge of the crater in a spiral pattern. She felt no suspicion from the bomber, so her ruse was working. That was good.

As she prepared to step over the lip of the crater, Ro made a show of fumbling with the ties of her gunnysack as she tried to replace everything inside of it. She bowed her head in the process, letting some loose strands of her long blond hair fall forwards, further obscuring her face. From half-lowered lashes, she made a surreptitious sweep of her surroundings.

Ro sought the rat's current hiding place, making sure that her head did not tilt in the direction she was looking in.

The morning was very clear and still, with no fog and the promise of more blue skies and bright sunshine. She had clear visibility of her immediate surroundings and traffic noises were so far removed that she could hear the wind brushing over the settled ash around her. The sky was the purple and dark blue of her lightsabers in a wonderful display of a bruised dawn and normally, Ro would have taken a few minutes to appreciate the sight. Now though, she had to concentrate her efforts on a piece of swamp scum instead.

Beneath her long, pale lashes, Ro's teal eyes darted about restlessly, searching for the man she could sense so close by. Much of the buildings about her were nothing more than piles of rubble and ash. There was no cover to be found there. The firefighters, in an attempt to stop the fire's advance, had pulled down a number of buildings around the zone of destruction to create a firebreak. Most of that rubble remained untouched, though scorched.

Unsuccessful with her visual sweep, Ro used the Force to pinpoint the bomber's location instead, finding him to the left of her, about twelve meters away. He was probably hiding behind that half broken-down wall of bricks she could barely make out from the corner of her eyes. It was the only decent cover to be had, which meant she had no visual contact.

Ro could have made sure of his position using the Force, but she didn't dare to actively reach out and touch the bomber with her awareness. She'd done that once before, early on in her career and had discovered, much to her chagrin, that the rat she'd been chasing was Force-sensitive. Though untrained, he'd caught on to her probing and had eluded her for another four days. She hadn't made that mistake ever again, so she only listened to what the Force was telling her. It would have to be enough.

Luckily, she'd always been quick on her feet.

Finished with closing the gunnysack, Ro swung the pack over her shoulder, using the movement as a cover, while her hands reached for the knife sheathed between her shoulders. She grasped the blade's flat hilt and pulled the knife out of the sheath in so fluid a gesture that it looked like nothing more than her giving her gunnysack a last shove into place. By the time she brought her arms back to her side, the knife was hidden from sight against her body, the hilt resting comfortably in Ro's palm. A single flick and the wicked blade would be soaring towards her target.

Her muscles tensed in preparation.

Ro took a single second to regret her continued incompetence with a blaster. The weapon would have given her a better range than a throwing knife, but despite Shiv's patient tutoring, Ro still failed to hit the broad side of a gundark half the time she tried. With a knife, at least, she was a deadly force.

Fussily, Ro straightened her indigo shirt with one hand, brushing off the dirt, while turning, as if absentmindedly, towards the direction of the rat's hideout, trusting that the gunnysack would mostly obscure her from the bomber.

She let the blade settle between her fingers as the broken wall became clearer in her peripheral vision. Ro shifted her feet just a little, began to flex the muscles of her arm…

And then the sun rose over the horizon and a stab of sunlight reached out through the ruined buildings and danced across one of her lightsabers, briefly outlining the distinctive cylindrical shape clipped to her belt.

The reaction from the bomber was instantaneous.

_Alarm _lanced through the Force and Ro saw a shadowy figure begin to detach itself from the broken wall just as she launched her knife at him. The blade flew, straight and true, only to thunk into heat-cracked brick a mere breath too late. Where there should have been an arm, there was only empty air.

Ro hadn't bothered to wait and see whether or not her throw had been successful. As soon as she'd felt that thread of alarm_, _she'd known she'd lost her advantage. Scolding herself mentally for carrying her sabers so openly, she'd started running as soon as the knife had left her fingers and now she dashed after the hastily retreating figure.

As she pursued, Ro didn't bother shouting out the traditional: "Stop! In the name of the law!" That never worked anyways and beside, she'd rather save her breath for the run.

Ro put everything she had into her pursuit, including drawing on the Force for added strength. The rat really was wily. Even as she reached for the knife strapped to the small of her back, Ro had to smile grimly at her prey's cleverness. He was leading her into the maze of side streets and alleys, which were almost completely unfamiliar to her. She'd have to concentrate on the Force, or else risk losing him.

Ro yanked her second blade free, vaulted over a toppled pair of trash containers and threw the blade mid-jump.

Hitting a moving target with a throwing knife, while running yourself was an almost impossible feat, even with the Force. Ro'd had no real hope of actually hitting the man. No, her goal had been to slow him down.

With the added advantage of momentarily having the higher ground, Ro's second blade missed by even less than the first. It thudded into the ground right between the man's feet, the hilt visibly quivering with the force of the impact as the blade buried itself in the ground.

And the rat stumbled.

With a sound like a squeal, the bomber fell to his hands and knees and for a moment, he scrambled along the ground on all fours like an animal, panting heavily.

Ro used the time to make up for a lot of lost ground. She flicked her wrist and the springloaded knife in her wrist sheath sprung forward. Ro let it slide between her fingers until she could grasp the hilt. This time, she aimed at the downed man's shoulder. The blade was not long enough to penetrate deeply, so it would not hit anything vital, but it would sure as all Nine Hells slow him down.

But she'd underestimated her quarry's survival instinct.

The bomber slid along on his hands and knees, then, with surprising swiftness, _tucked and rolled _himself out of her way. The maneuver caused Ro to lose sight of her intended target, as the man basically halved his body size. He came out of his roll and was up on his feet again, running with adrenaline-enhanced speed.

_Monkey feathers, _Ro thought and dug her toes into the flagstones, trying to regain the speed she'd dropped so as to take aim.

The rat disappeared behind a corner of a house painted a faded green. Ro dashed after him, only to be nearly flattened by a toppling scaffolding that had rested along the house's far side.

With a crash and a hollow _booong! _sound, steelcrete plates, walkways and bars rained down on her. The Force was shrieking at her; tiny, invisible feathers brushing against her skin as if caught up in a storm, trying to direct her towards a safe path through the raining missiles.

Ro had to twirl, duck, leap and roll to avoid being hammered to death by the collapsing scaffolding. She threw herself to the ground to keep a two meter long walkway from slicing her in half, then tried to roll out of the debris rain, hoping to make herself as small a target as possible. It didn't quite work. Ro winced as she felt something hard collide with her right shoulder with bruising force.

When she managed to clear the crashing scaffolding, she could no longer see the bomber.

Ro bit her lip, tamped down the urge to curse in every language she knew, and focused.

She might no longer be able to see the rat with her eyes, but that didn't mean she'd lost him. She was still a hound with a scent to follow.

_Fear, agitation, paranoia, rage, humiliation…_She had him.

Ro ran, following as the bomber continued his mad flight through the alleys, hastening around corners left and right, without any clear sense of where he was heading.

Ro, now relying completely on her Force-senses to tell her which way to go in the crooked labyrinth of alleys and side streets, could feel that her rat was now almost completely subsumed by his growing panic. The fact that he hadn't been able to shake her with that scaffolding had frightened him bad.

Good, his fear meant that he was creating a trail for her to follow that was so clear it might have been outlined in neon lights.

Ro ran and turned left, then right, then right again, buildings and walls flashing by her in a blur. She raced towards a wooden fence, leaped towards the side and used the wall of the adjoining building as a springboard to take the obstacle in a single leap, without losing her momentum. She couldn't afford to let the rat build any more distance between her and him. She landed in a clean roll and was up on her feet and running again in a heartbeat.

She ducked through an open archway, raced through a small courtyard, ducked again beneath a row of washing hung out to dry….

And then almost staggered as she encountered a blast of cold in the Force so intense, that it was like running naked into a blizzard on Ilum. The sensation was gone in the next instant and so was any trace in the Force of the bomber.

With a frustrated cry – This was _impossible_! – Ro raced on, heading in the direction she'd last sensed the bomber in.

The next alley she came to was blocked by a large, industrial dumpster and Ro threw herself to the ground, sliding beneath the dumpster to the other side. She jumped back to her feet, ran on…and ended up in the middle of a park.

The sight of trees and grass startled her so badly that she came to an abrupt halt, panting and nearly tumbled forwards by the force of her deceleration. The park was big, easily as big as two bolo ball fields and utterly flat. The trees were sparse, too thin for cover and she could see the entire area without trouble. Which meant that she should have been able to see the bomber ahead of her, because there was no way he could have made that much more headway during her pursuit.

But there was nothing. There were no people in sight anywhere and the Force was devoid of any of the emotions she'd identified as belonging to him. This couldn't be. She'd gotten a good feel of him this time. She should have been able to pick up his trail and follow it from miles away. Even if he'd somehow outrun her, she should be able to _feel him. _

Ro closed her eyes, ignoring her labored breathing, trying to find her rat again.

But there was nothing.

Nothing twisted or jagged and certainly none of that overpowering hunger. Even that sudden blast of coldness was now totally absent. It was as if the bomber had disappeared off of the face of the planet.

_It can't be, _she thought furiously. _Even if he'd fallen into a sarlacc's pit, I should be able to feel him._

"You there!" Another voice called, tearing Ro from her frustrations. "What are you doing here?"

She knew that voice. Ro turned to see a group of ten clone troopers coming towards her at a trot. The one at the front, the one who'd called to her, had blue stripes along his armor. But he wasn't Wess, that much she could tell. Actually, he didn't feel like any of the clones she'd met at Eyat Base.

_Must be one of Captain Kase's men, _she thought, momentarily distracted from her vexatious conundrum. _The one's he brought from Shenio HQ with him._

"I asked you a question, citizen," the trooper barked at her. Clearly Ro had been silent for too long for his liking. On some unspoken signal, ten blasters suddenly pointed right at her.

At the sight of those blasters, Ro's left hand automatically fell to her side, to rest on her lightsaber. The other, with the subconscious memory of a weight still resting in her palm, rose defensively.

She shouldn't have done that.

Too late Ro remembered that she still held her wrist knife in her right hand. The songsteel blade caught the sunlight on its tip and glinted brightly; a beacon the soldiers could not fail to notice.

The troopers, already on edge and hyper alert, interpreted the gesture, instinctual though it had been on her part, as a clearly threatening one.

At the sight of the blade in her hand there was a barely distinguishable ripple in the Force coming from the troopers, like a rubber band that had been stretched to near breaking finally relaxing.

It was the only warning Ro had before two of the troopers opened fire on her.

Ro threw herself backwards, dropping the songsteel blade and drawing both of her lightsabers in the same breath. The indigo blades, edged in purple, sprang to life with a _snap-hiss, _then crackled as Ro crossed the blades in front of her face. Angling the blades even as her feet lost contact with the ground, Ro directed the two shots that had been aimed at her torso up into the empty air. The blaster bolts passed by her face so close that she could smell the plasma.

The _crackle-hiss_ that sounded as the two shots impacted with her lightsabers told her that at least the troopers weren't shooting with live rounds, but stun bolts.

Ro twisted even as she fell and with bare inches between her and the ground she managed to tuck her feet back under her, ending up in a crouch with her back turned towards the patrol. Not an ideal pose, if they decided to shoot at her again, but at least it had saved her from falling onto the gunnysack on her back. She'd collected more than enough bruises for today.

"Hold fire!" A trooper's voice shouted. "It's the Jedi!"

_Glad you realize that, _she thought, the events of this morning making her thoughts more snarky than was usual for her. First a restless night, then a frustrating and fruitless search for clues and then she'd let the biggest of all prizes escape from right under her, just as if she hadn't spent an entire year being trained by the best hunters in the galaxy! This was sending some _bombad_ ripples through her serenity pool.

Ro powered down her lightsabers, clipping them back onto her utility belt. Peremptorily dusting herself off, she turned to face the squad of troopers, hands propped on her hips. She felt decidedly impatient right now, put off by the fact that she'd lost her prey.

How had the sneaky rat gotten away from her?

The trooper with blue stripes came trotting towards her, the Force about him whirling in _anxiety_, but also with hints of _exasperation_.

_Well, that makes two of us. _

"My apologies, Padawan Arhen," he said, giving her a salute.

Ro suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Yes, these were definitely Kase's men. The troopers from the base already knew not to salute her, for the most part.

"We didn't recognize you. We thought you might be GFH or possibly some other criminal." He waited a beat, as if expecting her to say something in her defense. When she remained silent, he continued, "My apologies again for the mix-up."

"Apology accepted," she said graciously, doing her best to keep her mood to herself. Really, this wasn't like her at all and it would be galactically unfair of her to take out her disappointment on these men. After all, she'd had a knife in her hand. Given the strain these troopers had been under recently and the continued hostility between them and the Gaftikari, Ro couldn't really blame them for trying to stun her. After all, _they _didn't have the Force to tell them when someone was a legitimate threat.

Still, she had to add, "But for the record, most civilians tend to freeze up when confronted with armed men. I suggest next time, you use that to your advantage, rather than shooting first. A discharged blaster makes for a bigger headache and more flimsi than a slap to the head."

The trooper straightened, clearly picking up on her thinly veiled criticism and annoyance.

"Sir, yes, sir," he and the rest of the squad said in unison and all ten saluted her smartly. Somehow the gesture appeared...repentant.

The sight of these intimidating looking, fully armed men feeling like chastised children, when she didn't even come up to their shoulders, brought back Ro's sense of humor. Goodness, what a ridiculous picture they must present; standing here in the middle of a park with as many shell craters as trees.

Ro brought up one hand, covering her smile. When she had herself back under control, she lowered the hand and busily resettled the straps of her gunnysack. "No harm done," she told the men, but she cast her eyes about the park, her senses still trying to pick up on the bomber.

He couldn't have just disappeared, could he?

Owen's words from last night rang in her ears. Maybe he really was a Nothing Man.

"Padawan Arhen?" It was the lieutenant again.

"Yeah?" she asked, bringing her focus to bear on him again with some difficulty.

"Might I ask what it is you are doing out here, without a military escort?"

Ro blinked at him in surprise. "Military escort? Seriously?" Then she shook her head. "Never mind. I was gathering evidence and I…" she trailed off, her eyes once more scanning their surroundings. She still couldn't sense anything, but the fine hairs on the back of her neck were starting to stand up. She had this creeping sensation of being watched.

"….was just making my way back to the base," she amended what she'd been about to say. She had the sudden urge to get out of the park, out of the open and under some cover. Her eyes flicked about in stark contrast to the calm tone of her voice. The Force was silent, but all of her instincts were screaming at her that something was out there. Something nasty.

"Very well, sir," the lieutenant said. He shifted the blaster in his arms slightly and Ro realized that whatever was setting her on edge, the troopers were feeling it too. "My squad and I should continue our patrol, but if you like, I could have two troopers escort you back to Eyat Base."

Ro gave him her friendliest smile and forced herself not to scan the park again. Something was watching them, but Ro didn't want to alert that something – or someone – of the fact that she was aware of that. "Thanks a bundle, but that won't be necessary. I can make my own way from here."

"Very good, sir," the lieutenant said politely and inclined his head towards her before turning back to his squad and barking orders at them. Ro watched the men leave, her fingers clenching and unclenching on the gunnysack's strap.

Should she return to the base?

Ro thought about it, carefully going over her options. She wanted to track down the bomber with all of her might. Second to that came the desire to rid herself of that eerie sensation of being watched. But she had no leads to go by. The Force was telling her nothing; it was utterly void of any of the emotions she'd felt earlier. The rat had, for all intense and purpose, eluded her grasp.

_And now he's holed up in some hideout, watching what I'll do next. _The thought was not pleasing, as was the realization that, if he hadn't found out before, the bomber would now certainly know that she was a Jedi. There was simply no way he could have avoided seeing her little interlude with the troopers. And there went one advantage she'd had.

The investigator part of her also argued that, without the Force to lead her, she had no way to know where he'd gone and aimlessly wandering through the city, hoping for a flash of recognition in the Force, was both a waste of time and dangerous. He obviously knew his way around Eyat better than she did and who was to say he wouldn't try ambushing her if she went wandering. Or take a hostage if she cornered him.

Ro shuddered at the mere thought. Hostage situations were as much her private nightmare as her recurring dream of drowning in darkness. Even with her empathic abilities to help her, Ro'd had her fair share of hostage situations go bad. Very bad. And with a sociopath in the game...She didn't want to think of all the ways that could go bad on her.

She couldn't risk having this rat panic any more while he was in the heart of the city. No, her best chance was to get back to the base and think over what had happened. Better yet, she should talk to someone about this.

Ro had learned early that when you were stuck and confused, it was best to talk the problem over with someone else; get a second or third opinion, or however many it took to get her brain storming.

Going over to where her knife had landed blade-first in the dirt, she pulled the weapon from the ground and began cleaning the blade with a hankerchief she kept tucked away in a pocket. As she wiped down the gleaming length of songsteel, Ro thought about whom she might talk these events over with.

The problem was, the people she usually went to with her problems were her adoptive parents and Master Altis. Eda and Shiv were on an extended vacation on Dorumaa, enjoying the Tropix island resorts and utterly ignoring the fact they were now in Separatist hands. She could contact them, but was reluctant to do so. They'd earned this vacation and had asked her to call her only during an emergency. And while things might not exactly be as grand as an Alderaanian sunrise, they were not exactly as dire as being caught on Lotho Minor during a rainstorm without a durasteel umbrella either.

As for Master Altis….well, she actually had no idea where Master Altis currently was and there was no guarantee that he'd be reachable via the _Chu'unthor. _These days, Master Altis often split his forces for multiple humanitarian missions and he would more often than not accompany one of the smaller freighters the Altisians had bought. And even if Ash or someone else on the _Chu'unthor _could tell her where her Master was, what then? Hunting down criminals wasn't exactly Master Altis's specialty, one of the reasons why he'd handed the bulk of her training over to Shiv and Eda in the first place.

So. Who did that leave her with? Gaff?

The commander was undeniably sweet, helpful and intelligent, but he was already pressed for time with running the base and dealing with Coruscant and the Gaftikari. Besides, he was no doubt still hurting from his loss. He'd felt so stricken yesterday, though he'd done a stellar job of keeping that fact from his outward appearance, but there was fairly little you could hide from an empath and so Ro was reluctant to lay more worries at his feet.

With a sigh, Ro finished cleaning the knife and acknowledged the only real other possibility. _Guess it's time to take the akk dog by the tail._

She tucked the blade back into her wrist sheath, then cast a last surreptitious look about her. Still no sign of anyone, either in the park or in the Force.

Ro bit her lip, but kept to her decision. She'd return to Eyat Base and grab herself a curmudgeon cookie by the collar and maybe set things straight between them. That would at least take care of one of her worries. And if Mr.-Triple-Threat-Cookie decided to be particularly obstinate, rude and a big smelly Hutt in generally, then at the very least she'd get another chance to beat on a man who could take as good as he got and work off some of her frustrations.

Win-win all around, she decided and grinned despite herself. Maybe this morning could be salvageable after all.

But first, she was going to retrieve her knives. Eda would no doubt hang her out for the kyren to devour when she heard that Ro had not only ruined two sets of good clothes, but lost two throwing knives as well.

Better to walk the extra miles than tempt that kind of fate.

* * *

He cowered in the darkness of his own mind, while The Rational looked out at the world through his eyes.

The Rational had been coldly furious with him ever since it had come out of its silent musings to find him walking about in the early dawn hours, enjoying the sight of the destruction he had created.

It had recognized the risk he had taken, even if he had not. But then, that was what The Rational was for: to calculate the odds and risks. It was The Rational; he was hunger and desire.

If The Rational had not been so distracted over what it had observed the day before yesterday, then none of this would have happened. He would not have ventured out so carelessly, would not have dared to view so publicly the aftermath of his present and he would not have been taken by surprise by the sudden appearance of that girl. The fact that even The Rational could probably not have predicted her presence had not comforted him.

But he had listened when, for the first time in over a day, The Rational had whispered to him. _**Run.**_

Before that, he'd thought of simply killing the girl, but there'd been no disobeying The Rational that time. So he'd run, his base instinct telling him that she was in pursuit. The knowledge of being hunted had spiked all of his survival instincts. He'd run, all sense of triumph and superiority falling away, leaving in their wake not a predator...but _prey. _Oh, and how he hated her for making him feel that way, for turning him into a sheep instead of a wolf. He hated her. But he also feared her and when he heard her footsteps pounding behind him relentlessly, fear had given way to rising panic. He couldn't shake her. No matter how hard he ran, no matter what he threw at her, she continued to pursue...relentless, unmovable, unavoidable...

As his panic rose, turning him into a mindless creature running blindly, The Rational had done something that it'd done only a handful of times before. It had taken over.

It had swamped him with its voice, drowning him out, redirecting his movements and had secured their freedom by finding the entrance into safe, concealing darkness once more. But The Rational was not done yet. Safety had been secured, but it refused to relinquish control just yet. It needed to watch and he let it. He wanted to nurse his wounded pride and fright. And more than that, he wanted to nurse his hate for her, for making him run.

So The Rational watched through his eyes from out of the darkness. It tracked the girl's movements, watched her clash with the troopers and as those two beams of light flashed through the pale morning light, it's suspicions were confirmed.

Into the echoing vastness of his mind, The Rational hissed a single hated word: _**Jedi.**_

* * *

_The practice grounds, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

"What are you doing, Jakk?" Wren barked at the trooper. "Fingers apart and keep your guard _up_!"

Jakk tried to slide his hands further apart on the electrostaff, while at the same time block Wren's thrust at his midsection. He was only half successful with both.

Wren slipped his electrostaff beneath Jakk's block, the tip of the power cycling coil just touching the trooper's bare chest. The purple beams surrounding the tip of the staff briefly flared as it made contact with sweaty skin and Jakk yelped, automatically trying to back away from the sting. Wren used the opportunity to reverse his thrust and smacked Jakk's fingers with the other end of the staff. More crackles and another yelp, this time of real pain, from the hapless Jakk.

Wren twirled his staff idly in his hand, watching Jakk nurse his bruised fingers. The force he'd put behind the blow had done more damage than the electricity running through the staff; all of the weapons were tuned to their lowest setting, so that a hit from the charged end would do no more than sting a little, leaving nerves tingling.

"Keep your hands evenly spaced," he told Jakk impatiently. "You're kriffing well unbalancing yourself. And for fek's sake, stop over-blocking." Jakk had this annoying habit of putting more muscle behind his blocks than was necessary. It meant that as soon as Wren removed the weight of his staff, Jakk's arms shot forwards a few centimeters, leaving the area of his body he was supposed to be protecting free.

Wren turned towards the twenty odd troopers assembled about him on the practice grounds, all of them with electrostaffs in their hands, watching avidly.

He pointed a blunt finger at a trooper with red streaks in his black hair. "You, Fister, come here." And Wren pointed at the ground before him, as if he were calling a dog to heel. Fister swallowed visibly, but put up an air of bravado when he came to confront Wren, even trying for a swagger. Wren rolled his eyes testily.

Fister was part of the Fire Support Team – the troopers who dealt with the heavy artillery – and was thereby part of one of the cockiest subsets of troopers there was. Only fighter pilots were more annoying. _Well, fighter pilots and Alpha-ARCs_, he amended with a smirk.

So despite having watched Wren trounce most of the troopers about him and his own nervousness, Fister was still cocksure sure of himself and his ability to best Wren. After all, he was still fresh while Wren had been fighting all morning. That attitude wouldn't last long, Wren would make sure of it.

He watched the other trooper idly through half-lidded eyes, taking in his movements as he walked, watching how he set his feet, calculating the man's center of gravity. Outwardly, nothing betrayed his mental activity. Wren was still twirling the staff lazily at his side, his posture relaxed and still.

And though he appeared utterly at ease with the situation and his weapon, inwardly he winced at every crackle and arc of electricity the electrostaff emitted.

Wren hated electrostaffs. He hated most weapons that used electricity. The constant crackling of electricity and the smell of burned ozone reminded him too much of the night he'd gotten electrocuted – twice – after he'd killed that commando. The wound had healed without the benefit of bacta and had plagued him for months after the incident. The memory alone made the resultant jagged scar in the middle of his back itch unpleasantly.

Consequently, he was in a foul mood and not above taking it out on the rookies. Gaff had, as threatened, returned him to his regular duties, including training the rest of F Company in advanced fighting techniques. And to put the icing on the cheffa cake, the rookies slated for an extended practice session with him were some of Kase's men, who'd spent most of their time away from Eyat Base and had therefore not yet learned to _mind him. _

Fister stopped before Wren, slid his feet apart and brought his electrostaff up in a middle block, a cocky grin on his face. The expression clearly stated that this trooper was ready to take anything Wren could throw at him and come out on top.

_Not even in your kriffing dreams, rookie, _Wren thought, only slightly amused by the noob's bluster.

Wren, his staff still twirling idly at his side, ignored the trooper for now. Looking at the others, he said, "Lately, Grievous has changed his tactics. The barve likes to get physical and he thinks nothing of us clones. The borg can swing a lightsaber with four hands and he's effing fast. And," Wren's staff flashed out at Fister, aiming for his head. Fister barely had time to block the blow, then tried to retaliate. Wren ducked beneath the blow, slid across the ground in a half-twist, with his staff along his back to protect him. As he came about to face Fister again, he swung the staff back into place before him and struck, locking both of the electrostaffs together.

"Grievous never goes anywhere on his own," he told the troopers, while he kept his eyes on Fister. The other clone was in a bad position and knew it. Wren's staff had come down on his in a vertical swing. Fister had blocked the blow, but now Wren could lean all of his weight against the staff and unto Fister. The rookie was strong, but Wren had added more muscle to his frame over the past year of fighting. Fister's knees were beginning to give, the cords in his neck and arms standing out as he strained against Wren.

"He's got Magnas with him and those tinnies know how to fight. They're faster, stronger," Wren flashed Fister a razor smile, "and almost as clever as a clone."

Fister eyed him in confusion. He hadn't noticed that the other end of Wren's staff had come precariously close to his knee. Wren twisted his staff just enough to the side that the tip tapped against the inside of Fister's knee. Like the other clones, Fister only wore the loose pants that were the preferred wear for physical exercising. Without armor, the thin cloth was no protection against the staff's electric charge. Mild though the charge was, Wren had tapped one of the most sensitive areas on the body, sending jolts of electricity up one of the major nerve bundles.

Fister cried out in pain, his knee jerked and then collapsed under him. Wren followed up his attack with a blow to Fister's stomach, jabbing the power coil into the trooper's abdomen. Fister gasped, jerked slightly as electricity raced through him, then fell flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Trying to suck in lungfuls of air, the rookie had at least remembered to keep a grip on his staff. Wren would give him credit for that, but it wouldn't stop him from giving the rookie a lesson for the ages: never get over-confident with a stronger, more experienced opponent.

Wren brought his weapon up, then down in an overhead swing.

There was a clack and a sizzle as his staff was blocked by another just inches away from Fister's cheek. The trooper had frozen, not daring to move a muscle as the two electric ends of the staffs hissed and crackled against one another, purple arcs of electricity flaring outwards in a mad dance.

Wren looked up, ready to curse out the interloper. His brown eyes met bright teal set in a determined, oval face.

Full lips curling into a challenging smile, Ro said cheerfully, "You are a real all-around threat, aren't you, cookie? Shooting, martial arts, staff fighting. Do you do the dishes, too?"

Though she was bearing the brunt of his attack with her fingers wrapped around only a short portion of the staff, Ro's arms didn't seem to strain, like Fister's had done before. Wren narrowed his eyes at the girl and briefly tested the strength of her by putting more of his weight behind his staff.

Her grip never wavered, the distance between the staffs and Fister's face never changed. For someone so small, she was damnably strong.

Wren wrenched his staff free of hers, taking two steps back. Ro did the same and Fister scrambled quickly too his feet, looking from one to the other, as if unsure who constituted the bigger threat. His face was sweaty from his close proximity to the power coils and there was nothing left of his cocksure attitude. Now he just looked like a scared and confused rookie, trying to figure out where the next shot will be coming from.

"Back in line," Wren snarled at him. With a quick, appraising glance at Ro, Fister complied, rushing back to the safety of the group. Well, at least the cockiness had been knocked out of the rookie barve.

Ro watched him go, head tilted to the left, clearly amused. When she turned her eyes back on him, her amused grin turned into a lop-sided smile that was as pleased as if she were a Vjun fox who'd just been let loose on a nuna farm.

"You know," she said impishly, "I'd kinda been hoping to find you all riled up and nowhere to go. I could use a few rounds of aggressive therapy and you make for such interesting conversations."

Wren took her in carefully, wary of her after yesterday's confrontation despite her apparent cheerful demeanor. She'd put her hair up in a knot at the back of her head, he noted and the long-sleeved shirt and pants she wore looked far sturdier than the things she'd worn so far. The hairstyle and the darker coloring of the clothes made her appear older somehow, more mature, an impression belied by the mischievous expression on her face. Her presence after yesterday, her apparent nonchalance towards him after their fight, put his hackles up.

"What do you want?" he snapped at her. "You're interrupting a training session."

"Really?" she asked, doing a spot-on imitation of his drawl. "Looked more like a flouncing lesson to me." She raised an eyebrow at him, her lips quirking up. "Care to try me? I might be more of a challenge."

Wren planted one end of his staff firmly into the ground, making the power coils sputter as they encountered the hard-packed soil.

What was she getting at? Was this a legitimate challenge or was she rubbing yesterday's victory in his face? Ro hadn't struck Wren as the vindictive or the boasting type, but he'd been wrong about her so often that he couldn't be sure. Everyone had a nasty streak, he'd discovered. Could be this was hers.

When faced with the unknown, it was best to force an opponent back to territory one was familiar with. So, Wren did what he always did to gauge an opponent's strength: he goaded that person into a rash action.

He sneered at her, letting his lip curl back slightly from his teeth, feeling his scar at the corner of his mouth stretch in response. The spite needed for the action wasn't difficult to find. All he had to think of were her words from yesterday, the way they'd called up unwanted memories and the recollection of her leaving him among the ashes and all his anger and hate from last night came rushing back. And with it, a deep desire for a second chance to wipe that ever-present smile off of her face.

"Don't make me laugh, Jedi," he said to her, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're no ones challenge without your frakking Force to lean on."

Her answering smile was very dry. "Oh, you men," she said, mocking laughter clear in her voice. "Always whispering the same old sweet nothings into a girl's ear." She tilted her head at him, crooking a finger in a clear 'come hither' gesture. "C'mon, cookie, let's sway our bodies to the beat and tango."

He growled at her, then lunged with his staff out and to his side, completely forgetting that _he'd _been trying to lure _her _into making the first move.

Ro met his attack head on, blocking his charge and then ducking away from him as if she were a breeze, laughing in the face of his rage.

* * *

Fister ran his hands through his sweat-soaked, red and black hair, then turned towards Jakk, who was still nursing his bruised fingers.

"Can you believe this?" he asked his brother, totally stunned by the scene before him.

Jakk silently shook his head, his eyes riveted on the turning and twisting forms of the Jedi and the sergeant.

Jakk had never seen a Jedi in action before – no one in F Company really had – but if what he was seeing now was any indication of what they could do, then it was no wonder that they were in charge of the troopers. The girl…the Jedi…the commander…she fairly danced around Sergeant Wren. Her movements were so light, there really wasn't a better word for it.

And she was so small.

"Hey." Scope leaned out of the huddle of troopers standing at the sidelines, tapping one finger against Fister's bare arm to get his attention. "I'll bet you a week's worth of clean-up detail that the Jedi will wipe the floor with the sarge."

Fister, rubbing the knee that had gotten electrocuted, shook his head. "No way, Scope. The sergeant is far too mean. He'll crush her like a gnatfly. I mean, have you seen how _tiny _she is. I could stuff her in my backpack."

"So," Scope needled. "Does that mean you're in?"

"Oh, I'm in," Fister replied, his earlier confidence coming back full force.

Scope turned towards Jakk. "What about you, Jakk? In or out? The Jedi or the sergeant?"

Jakk turned his attention back to the two duelists, one hand rubbing along the stubble across his jaw. There was no denying the Jedi was good. Really good. She was small and looked no more threatening than a buttered muffin, but she was also very fast and that electrostaff looked like a living snake in her hand.

But the sergeant was no slouch either. He was keeping up with her with an ease that nearly robbed Jakk of his breath, his staff flashing out with lightning speed.

Jakk had seen his fair share of impressive skill exhibitions, but what the sergeant was displaying now filled him with a quiet envy. Could a trooper even move like that?

_Will I ever be that good? _He wondered.

"Jakk." Fister poked him in the ribs, voice annoyed. "Gaftikar to Jakk, so what will it be? Jedi or the sergeant?"

"Neither," Jakk finally said. "Both." He shook his head, ignoring his brothers' expression of exasperation and annoyance at his indecisiveness. "It's like pitching wind against fire," he tried explaining to them. "There's no way it'll end unless one of them wants it to."

Fister rolled his eyes and turned back to Scope, jabbing a thumb in Jakk's direction. "Our resident poet waxing away again," he said dismissively and Scope laughed.

Jakk didn't pay them any attention, riveted by the fight. There was no way this could end well, could it?


	23. Chapter 22: Getting on and Along

**Getting On and Along**

"_Before I could figure out how to apologize for being such an idiot, she tackled me with a hug…" _

_- Rick Riordan, _The Sea of Monsters

* * *

_The practice grounds, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

For Wren, the world had narrowed down to the electrostaff in his hand and the darting, twisting little fay before him.

He'd known that she was fast. He'd gotten a taste of it even before their impromptu fight yesterday. And he knew she was agile. But what she was displaying now was a whole other game of sabacc.

Her feet never seemed to touch the ground for more than a breath; every part of her body was constantly in motion. And she could _bend. _

Wren's electrostaff jabbed out at her and Ro practically flew into the air, corkscrewing in place to avoid the crackling energy weapon; her own staff held along her torso and out of the way. When she landed, it was on the exact same spot she'd been standing in earlier and she retaliated with her own staff so fast, that Wren only saw a purple blur.

He barely had time to throw himself to the ground and somersault out of her way, the scent of burnt ozone following him.

When he was back on his feet, he was grinning madly. Forget bar fights and brawling with stray GFH barves in the middle of the night. Not even arresting Kezner could come close to what he was feeling in this moment, trying to electrocute a little scrap of a Jedi nuisance.

He felt _alive _for the first time in almost over a year. This was a fight where he had to use all of his skills, all of his wits. He was panting, sweat was running down his face and bare chest and his muscles were just beginning to feel the strain of the exercise. And he loved it. This was a challenge. This was what he had been made for.

Ro darted in again, quick as lightning and moving as naturally as a bird on a good breeze. Wren parried her blow, then swung his staff at her. She blocked, then leaped away as his foot shot out to sweep her legs from under her.

As they both gained some distance from one another, Wren became aware for the first time of the excited voices from the shinies he'd been training. So they were enjoying the show. Well, why not given them something to really look at?

"That all you got, _cheeka_?" Wren taunted. "I thought you Jedi were supposed to be worth a thousand effing tinnies? Looks to me like you can't even take down a single clone."

Ro circled him carefully, her teal eyes never leaving his face. Though she too was breathing harder now, she was nowhere near exhausted and the laughter had yet to leave her eyes. Apparently, she was enjoying this as well.

"Don't count your nuna till they're hatched, cookie," she replied cheerfully. "We Jedi never do anything without a reason." Her smile turned wicked and challenging. "Try thinking on that."

She darted in again, feinted a blow to his chest, then angled her staff for a strike at his shoulder. Wren, recognizing the feint, got his electrostaff in-between hers and his shoulder, then forced Ro back, utilizing his greater mass. She didn't fight him, instead letting her body be pushed back, her feet never once faltering.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her twirl away again, out of reach of his staff. Despite this attack, he'd noticed that her overall strategy seemed to be largely defensive. She rarely came close enough to launch an attack of her own, limiting herself to quick feints and darting jabs.

Now, this strategy might favor her greater speed and natural light-footedness, but it was a bad long-term policy. Circling him required her to cover more ground and those quick, darting movements of hers took a lot more energy. He would be able to outlast her, if the fight dragged on.

Wren pulled back slightly, beginning to circle, forcing her to do the same as he analyzed her behavior. He'd fought alongside a few Jedi on Geonosis, Jabiim, Atraken and Qiilura and no matter their incompetence at leading troops, Jedi knew how to fight one-on-one. Ro might not be a traditional Jedi - though he didn't know yet what difference being an Altisian Jedi would make - but he'd seen her fight against a single opponent. Hell, he'd _been_ that opponent and she'd taken him down methodically enough yesterday. As much as it stung his pride to admit it, Ro had bested him yesterday, outmaneuvering him and overcoming his defenses. Which was why it made even less sense for her to act so defensively now. She must know that the game she was playing was a losing one.

_If in doubt, _Wren thought, _change the rules. _The fight right now was working itself into a stalemate. She was too quick for him to land a solid blow, but his defenses were too solid for her jabs to get through. Eventually she might tire and make a mistake, but he had no patience to wait that long. It was time to change the game.

Wren shifted his feet, spreading his center of gravity. He watched Ro's eyes flicker across his bare chest calculatingly, then down to his feet, trying to read his muscles to gauge his next movement. He didn't leave her much time for her analysis.

He struck in a flash, his electrostaff darting out at her. She jumped to the side, then let herself fall to the ground and roll away, as he turned his attack into a feint. The game was on.

Instead of pure, all out offensive strikes, Wren switched to using several feints, trying to get her off of her feet as much as possible. He lured her in with tempting openings, knowingly dropping his guard a few centimeters to give her an opening for a strike. She was smart; he would give her that. Ro didn't fall for nearly all of his feints. But then, the beauty of feigning to be a lure was that his opponent only had to miscalculate once. And she did.

With a grin, Wren saw his opening.

He'd baited her with a feint to her right leg. Ro sidestepped the perceived strike, then brought her staff up for a blow to his midsection on his undefended right side. Wren reversed the direction of his strike and brought his staff down with full force on Ro's left shoulder.

For a moment, time halted, freezing the tableau of the twenty-odd troopers surrounding the two combatants. The rookies had gone deathly silent as they saw the invariable strike descend on the delicate form of the little Jedi. It would be killing blow, under normal circumstances.

Wren stared down at Ro, brown meeting teal unflinchingly, his electrostaff only a breath away from her unprotected shoulder. Arcs of electricity jumped and sizzled close enough to her head to make some of the fine strands of her blue-blond hair stand on end.

Ro's own electrostaff was held before her, powered down.

"You dropped your guard," Wren said coolly.

"I did," she replied evenly.

He narrowed his eyes, regarding her with suspicion. "Did you just throw this fight?"

The smile she gave him was absolutely serene, as if she weren't in danger of receiving a nasty electro shock at any moment. "You dazzle me with your IQ points, cookie."

There was an audible groan from their audience and some muttered curses. Apparently, the shinies had indulged in some betting. Wren shot them a glare and they subsided, freezing in place like a pack of squalls caught in a speeder's lights.

He turned back to Ro, who still hadn't moved so much as a muscle. If she noticed the crackling and spitting energy coil at her ear, she gave no outward sign of it. Her eyes were still fixed on his face.

"'Jedi never do anything without a reason'," he parroted back at her. "So what's your fekking reason, _cheeka_?"

Incredibly, she fluttered her long, pale lashes at him, smiling up at him in unblemished innocence. "Now, now. Can't a girl just do her guy the favor of getting him…_in the mood_?"

There was a hastily muffled guffaw from somewhere in the back, which both Ro and Wren ignored.

Wren felt a corner of his mouth twitch in an involuntary attempt at a smile. Fierfek, what a crazy little thing she was. Utterly unpredictable and as mercurial as a Thakwaash. Still, just because she was amusing on occasion and had given him a good fight, didn't mean he'd let her lead him around like that fool, Gaff.

The thought that she was in any way manipulating him darkened his mood again. Face settling into a hard mask, Wren removed the electrostaff from where it had hovered over Ro's shoulder and stabbed one end into the earth, leaning slightly against it. The power coil sputtered in protest. He consciously had to suppress a wince at the hiss of electricity. Kark, he wanted to be rid of this thing.

"If you wanted to get me in the mood for a fight, then you're too late, _cheeka_. My blood's already boiling, so was there something specific you wanted?" he asked her, his tone sharp, his body fairly humming in anticipation of another confrontation.

Though he'd spent most of the time between last night's memorial service and his duty hours working out some of his pent up frustrations from yesterday, he still had plenty of anger left in him. It was the one thing he never seemed to run out of and just the sight of her was getting his hackles up.

He just couldn't forget that image of her, turning her back on him, walking away with Gaff and leaving him in the ruins of a fire-destroyed district. Worse yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that there'd been some truth to her words; that he was, as hateful as the concept seemed, imitating his teachers in his dealings with others.

"A word with you would be stellar," she admitted finally, her deactivated electrostaff still hanging from her hands, low over her stomach. "Several actually. Maybe we could squeeze in even a paragraph or two?"

"I got nothing to say to you, Jedi," he told her brusquely and turned his back on her. He half expected her to grab him again like she'd done yesterday. He hadn't expected almost running into a wall of clones.

The twenty-five troopers he'd been training with all morning had, apparently, inched their way closer to the arguing pair while both he and Ro were distracted. As they'd been stationed at Shenio HQ for much of their stay on Gaftikar, these rookies had not yet had a chance to actually meet Ro, let alone lay eyes on their very first Jedi.

But Wren had no doubt that they'd heard stories from the base troopers since their arrival. There were no worse gossips than a pack of bored troopers and judging from some of the expressions on the men's faces, some of those stories must have been pretty colorful. Looking from one to the other, Wren had to wonder just how many variations of her little visit to the barracks there were and just how fekking colorful they'd become in the retelling.

The rookies faces were openly displaying their curiosity, brown eyes wide with interest for the little Jedi, with expressions ranging from curiosity, to disbelieve, to disappointment and, in a few cases, barely concealed desire.

_Oh, you've got be fekking kidding me, _Wren thought furiously. Leave it to a bunch of inbred, grunt shinies to fall for the first girl to ever come within three meters of them. Now there was something he would never understand; this instant imprinting some of the grunts did. Really, there were some troopers who reminded Wren more of ducklings than soldiers, the way they fawned and obsessed over the first halfway decently pretty face they encountered. Clearly the cloners back on Kamino had overdone it with the loyalty genes in a few cases. Now, if the Separatists switched from a mostly droid army to an all-female one, the Republic would be royally screwed.

"Get back in line!" he roared at the gathered shinies. The troopers jumped, totally taken by surprise by his outburst. They hurried back to the edge of the practice ground, Wren stalking after them like a nexu after a herd of grazers and entertaining some similar thoughts. Maybe tearing into a few of the noobs would get the tension out of his shoulders.

"And while you're at it," he barked at their retreating backs, "why don't you salvage some kriffing dignity for yourselves. She's a fem: nothing you haven't already seen on posters and in your wet dreams." And oh, weren't those words familiar. Kripes, would he be repeating the same thing over and over again to each batch of rookies? Now there was an unimaginable hell.

"You know," came an indecently cheerful voice from behind him. "I'm enjoying this. Coming or going, you guys are a sight for sore eyes. My inner fangirl is going all wackawookiee."

Wren halted in his tracks, coming about to face Ro. She was still standing where he'd left her, though she was now leaning casually against the electrostaff she'd taken off of the weapons rack at the edge of the grounds. All the seriousness had fled from her face, leaving the familiar sight of mischievous delight on her features. Her eyes were once more roaming freely across the half-naked clones, utterly unabashed.

Catching Wren's furious eyes, Ro's smile widened and her tone turned curious. "That reminds me. Why don't you have chest hair?"

Of all the things he'd expected to come out of her mouth…

"What?" he asked her, aware that he was probably gaping like a gooberfish and not caring.

She'd asked him what?

"Not that I mind," she assured him blithely. "Hey, unobstructed view of some nice pecs, right? So who am I to complain? I was just wondering. I mean, do all clones wax or was a hair free chest part of the package deal?" She smiled at him as pleasantly as if she'd just asked him about the weather on Hoth.

Wren opened his mouth, then closed it again as he realized he had no ready retort for her. Well, what that the frak was he supposed to say to something like _that_? Quite frankly, he had the uncomfortable sensation that she'd just turned the tables on him somehow.

_How does she always do that? _he wondered. He'd been pretty sure he'd been ready to tear off her head just moment ago and now he was reduced to staring at her like a concussed shiny. And that feeling was becoming uncomfortably familiar as well.

One of the troopers, probably that dwarfnut Fister, muttered, "Is she right?"

Wren pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and wondered where a battalion of tinnies was when you needed them. He could surely use a hail of blaster fire to free him of this pack of earworms.

"Are you kriffing serious?" he asked of the galaxy at large. Then he threw Ro a withering glare. "You know, this can be termed sexual harassment."

"So take it up with the Sentient Resource Department," she said unrepentantly. "And as to your first question, this is about as serious as I'm going to get until we can talk privately. Unless you want an audience for what I have to say to you?" Then she raised an amused eyebrow. "Besides, I'm not the only one objectifying here." She pointed at the troopers gathered at his back.

Wren glanced behind him and hissed in frustration to see that she was right. Some of the more daring shinies had taken a few steps closer again, talking in quiet tones to each other and shooting quick, unobtrusive glances in their directions, obviously eyeing Ro speculatively. A few had even gone so far as to position themselves so that Ro couldn't help but get an eyeful of their physiques.

_That's it, _Wren thought. _I'm going to kill them and the little Jedi, too. Messily. _

In a tone so calm that it promised imminent hurt, Wren said, "If all of you aren't gone by the time I count to five, I will turn a hose on you and beat you with it."

Fister and his crowd threw him dubious looks and Wren held up a single finger. "One."

Troopers standing at the outer edges of the group began to edge away from the grounds. Wren held up a second finger. "Two."

Over half left right then and there, but some, including Fister, remained stubborn. With a smile that showed all of his teeth, Wren said, "Four."

They dashed for cover after that, taking only the time to stow away the electrostaffs. Once he was sure that they were alone, Wren drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth, trying to gather what little patience he had. Turning to face Ro again, he saw that she still hadn't moved.

"Happy now?" he asked her sarcastically.

She didn't look particularly happy and she didn't answer him. Instead, she put her electrostaff back on the rack with the others, then crossed the practice grounds until she was standing directly in front of him. She crossed her arms over her narrow chest, looking down at the tips of her boots, one of which was idly drawing invisible patterns over the ground.

Wren, never a particularly patient man unless he had to be, tapped the end of his staff against the ground restlessly. "You wanted to talk," he finally snapped out. "So fekking ta…"

"I'm sorry," she blurted out.

His jaws snapped shut audibly and he felt his eyes widen a little in astonishment. There'd been a lot of things he would have expected her to say to him, but "I'm sorry" hadn't even been on that list.

"What?" he asked her again, feeling a little dumbstruck.

He wasn't really sure what else to say. Actually, he wasn't sure how to feel, come to that. No one had ever apologized to him before about anything and he had never apologized to someone else. This was utterly new territory for Wren and it made him uneasy, as if awaiting an imminent ambush.

The long silence building between them must have unnerved her as well, because she began fiddling with the orange lined cuffs of her shirt. "Look," she said and met his eyes at a slant. "I was wrong to slap you. You were being a total grommit and you seriously deserved it, but that doesn't mean I should have done it. I lost my temper and I'm sorry about that."

"You're apologizing to me?" he asked, just to be clear on what was happening.

"Yeah."

"And you had to interrupt my training and scare away the rookies to do that?"

"I do have my pride," she mumbled, then cast him another slanted look from beneath her lashes. "And I think you were the one who did the scaring away. I was being a delight."

He decided to ignore her last comment and focus on the imminent. Wren might not have any first-hand experiences with apologies, but he'd learned quite a bit about the social convention through the HoloNet, so he had some idea of what she might be expecting of him in return. And there was no way in all nine fekking Corellian hells that he was going to give it to her and she'd best learn that fast.

So he leaned towards her, towering over her smaller, slighter frame, snapping out, "And what the fek do you want from me now? An apology as well?"

"No," she answered without hesitation and actually smiled slightly. "I think I could wait till my hair falls out before that happens. What I'd like is you're help."

Wren blinked at her, then looked about the now deserted practice grounds to make sure she was still talking to him. "You can't be serious."

"I can," she said firmly. "I am."

"Then get Gaff to help you," he told her harshly. "He fancies you well enough."

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a slight bit of color rise to her cheeks. It was hard to tell, though. Several strands of blue and blond hair had freed themselves from the knot at the back of her head and now framed her face, hiding some of her expression.

She kept her voice very restrained as she answered him. "Gaff is busy. He has the entire base to take care of, not to mention fending off that Lucara woman's accusations about how he's trying to kill her by taking away over half of her security detail. Teller told me she's been screeching her head off since last night. You on the other hand," and she pointed a finger at his chest, "have no such concerns."

"I have my duties," he argued, though even as he said it he was aware of arguing more for the sake of it than anything else. Really, he'd take almost any excuse to get away from his mind-numbing chores at the base.

"What duties?" Ro argued back. "Beating on a bunch of troopers you _know _don't stand a chance against you? Don't tell me you're morale officer for this place? Gaff has an entire garrison of grieving, hurting men to console and manage. Not to mention dealing with his own grief. He doesn't need me to pester him right now."

"And I don't warrant your concern?" he couldn't help but ask, knowing as he did so that he was setting himself a trap.

She stared at him, hard. "You didn't strike me as completely broken hearted over the death of Fallout and his squad."

He looked away from her, feeling an ugly stab of shame. He'd really asked for that one, hadn't he? And he couldn't deny her accusation either. Though a sergeant, Wren had no squad assigned to him. Instead, he was rotated regularly among F Company's squads, to give each of them the benefit of his experience during patrols and regular duties. During that time, he was nominally in charge of things.

When he'd done his stint with Fallout and the rest of his men, there'd been more than the usual bit of friction. Wren had gotten into a number of pretty serious arguments with Orar and Tal about their Mandalorian beliefs and Fallout had logged a datachip full of complaints against him afterwards, protesting Wren's heavy-handed ways in dealing with his squad.

No, Wren had not been overcome with grief or regret at the death of those ten men, though a small, withered part of him knew that he should feel…something. Something warmer and stronger than the ambivalent anger he was feeling now.

But what would be the point? He hadn't liked any of the men and this was war. There'd be more than enough corpses in the near future. There was no sense in mourning over each and every one.

"I'm not," he told her finally, still not meeting that strange, teal gaze. "They were no friends of mine," he added, though he wasn't sure why he would reveal this to her. What did it matter to her, to know at least a part of his reasons behind his feelings?

"But you are angry," she said quietly, her words pulling his gaze back to meet hers. She looked up at him and there was no laughter in her eyes now. He wasn't sure what he was seeing, but it was something deeper and far more ancient. Not compassion, but something more. Something that might be very close to understanding.

"You're angry about what's happening here. And you know things. You've got a good head on your shoulders and you're more prepared for this than even the local cops. That's good enough for me. Now, will you listen to what I have to say and help me?"

He stared down at her for a very, very long time, weighing his options. Help her or go back to teaching shinies? Stop a madman or patrol a city? Do what he'd been trained to do or what he'd been ordered to do?

Put that way, it was a pretty easy decision.

He began twirling the electrostaff he still held in his hand, looking at the purple circles of electricity the coils created.

"That depends on the song you'll be singing into my ear, little bird," he told her lazily.

She took a deep breath, then told him without any preamble, "I saw the bomber today."

The staff stopped cold and Wren raised a single dark brow. Well, _now _she had his attention.

* * *

_A little later, onboard of the _Mockingbird….

It took a while for Ro to finish her report on her morning's activities and for most of it, Wren remained silent, listening attentively, keeping his comments to himself until she was finished.

"So let me get this straight," Wren said, once Ro had stopped talking. "I kriffing well threaten to shoot you for the past three effing days and now I'm not even there when _two _troopers take a potshot at you?" He shook his head ruefully at the missed opportunity, leaning back in his seat in the _Mockingbird's _galley until his back rested against the bulkhead. "Fek," he said and propped his boots on the durasteel tabletop in front of him.

Ro shot him a vexed look over her shoulder. "Seriously, that's what you decide to focus on?"

He smirked at the Padawan, who was standing at the other end of the galley, rummaging through cupboards and putting together a snack for the two of them. Shrugging his shoulders he said, "Hell, I would have paid to see that."

Ro made an exasperated noise in the back of her throat and went back to putting all manner of…foodstuffs onto two plates. From the angle he was sitting at he couldn't see what she was pulling out of the conservator and the cupboards, but he was hopeful. The few times he'd had civilian food, he'd found the stuff more than edible. It seemed to be the one thing the mongrels were reliably good at.

But banter aside, he was seriously mulling over what she'd told him about her encounter with the bomber. He wasn't quite sure what to make of all the Force crap; quite frankly, he couldn't see how she'd come to the conclusion that something like hunger made a person a nutter, but she seemed very sure about that part at least.

But what about the rest of it? This barve had been more than cautious so far, so why take such a huge risk as returning to the scene of his crime? Had it been just for kicks or had he left something – something incriminating – behind? And how exactly had he managed to disappear like that? From what Ro had told him – and from what he understood of how the Force worked – she'd had a pretty good beat on him. How'd he managed to lose her so easily? And for that matter, how the kriff had he avoided the doubled patrols in the city?

"Cookie?" Ro asked him from across the galley.

"I'm just thinking," he told her absentmindedly.

There was a burst of laughter from her and he looked up, startled, to see Ro, eyes blazing with mirth and laughing so hard she was having trouble breathing.

"Yo-you just…" More snorts of laughter. "Cookie!" she screeched and nearly convulsed into hysterics.

He stared at her, utterly bemused. What had gotten into her now? Had her own insanity finally caught up with her?

Struggling to get herself back under control, Ro wiped tears out of her eyes, then pointed towards the cupboard she'd just opened. "I-I was asking," she managed to gasp out, "if you _wanted _a cookie."

Wren stared at her, then at the cupboard. It was filled with jars. About a dozen of them, the jars were all in different shapes and sizes. There was one shaped like a squat Wookiee, another was yellow with a ridiculous smiley face on it and a third was shaped….like a stack of cookies.

Horrified realization struck Wren like a lightning bolt. He'd actually _answered _to that ridiculous nickname she insisted on calling him.

Ro was peeking at him from between spread fingers, looking for all the word like a bomb expert trying to gauge how many seconds were left before the detonation. She was still fighting laughter.

Wren felt his anger rising at the humiliation and prepared to curse her out, then fought to reign in his temper at the last minute. Still fresh in his mind's eye was the fact that _she _had apologized to _him. _And she'd done it without expecting a return apology.

Wren had spent enough time around civvies and other mongrels to understand that his moral upbringing had been lacking in certain areas. His sense of right and wrong was based on the rules of conduct during wartime and that didn't exactly cover societal niceties such as apologizing when doing something wrong or hurting someone's feelings. And his personal set of morals was even more skewed.

But he knew that, when mongrels apologized, that usually meant they accepted responsibility for what had happened and although she'd landed the first blow, Wren was not conceited enough to think that what had happened yesterday had been her fault. He was the one who'd started laying in on Notch and Fince and she'd simply reacted to behavior that even Wren knew hadn't been right. By mongrel standards, that meant that he should have been the one to apologize to _her, _or at least he should publicly acknowledge some of the blame.

But he hadn't and she hadn't pressed him and that…that made him think.

Wren hadn't been raised according to many of the standards of mongrel society, but he did understand some of the concepts; one of them being fairness. There were a lot of things in life, in his life in particular, that weren't fair. It wasn't fair that he and other clones had no rights. It wasn't fair that in the eyes of the mongrels he was fighting for, he was little more than a flesh droid. It hadn't been fair of Fett to treat one clone better than the rest, simply because he'd labeled that clone his son. It hadn't been fair that his two closest brothers had died, because they hadn't been able to conform to or take the pressures of the Kaminoans exacting standards. He had enough insight into himself to understand that much of his anger stemmed from this lack of fairness. He was also honest enough with himself to realize that for Ro to apologize to him for giving him a well-deserved slap was most definitely _not _fair.

And her going with Gaff…hadn't he deserved that, after the way he'd acted?

Wren ran a hand through his closely cropped hair, not liking where his thoughts were leading him.

All in all, he had to admit that Ro didn't deserve his anger, because she never really meant to do him harm. Her bouts of silliness and the times she ridiculed him weren't meant as insults. They were just…Ro being Ro.

And didn't he owe her, just a little bit, for taking the blame for what had happened between them yesterday.

Wren grimaced. He hated owing people.

Movement at the corner of his eye brought him out of his musings. Wren looked up to see Ro standing in front of the table, head ducked low as she regarded him through her messy bangs. Her eyes were still glinting with the remnants of her giggle fit, but there was also uncertainty in them. Cleary she was wondering if she'd pushed him too far.

She bit her lip when she noticed him looking at her and quickly set down a tray loaded with two full plates and mugs in front of him.

The sight of steam rising from the mugs momentarily distracted him from the uncomfortable silence that was beginning to build between them. Wren's nostrils flared in an immediate craving for caf, but whatever the smell coming from the mugs was, it wasn't caf. It smelled sweeter and a little tart.

Ro continued to bite her lip nervously as she studied his face. "I didn't mean to laugh," she told him. "Well, no, I did, because it was funny, but I didn't mean to laugh _at _you. But then, I guess I wasn't really laughing with you either, because you weren't laughing at all, but getting mad and….well, I'm sorry." She fiddled with the locket hanging from her neck, slender fingers running over the bronze covering. "Are we…well, 'kay?"

Wren looked down at his bruised and scared hands. He'd armored back up once they'd left the practice grounds, but had opted to leave off the gloves and his bucket. He'd thrown both on the seat next to him.

He wasn't sure what to make of her question. Were they okay? Did that even matter? And what exactly _were they_? He didn't know. Friends didn't seem to fit quite. For one, they'd only known each other for about three days. Then there was the fact that he thought she was totally off of her stabilizers and she more often than not drove him up a stanging wall. She was annoying, downright maddening, but he was also beginning to realize that she was quite intelligent and unlike many other Jedi he'd met so far, used her brain cells rather than relying on the nebulous Force. She was funny - sometimes - and the same qualities that made him think she was a few rounds short of a full clip also made her a challenge to be around. And he did enjoy being challenged.

But that didn't mean they were friends and any other label he could come up with didn't seem appropriate either. But again, did it matter? More things he didn't know.

In answer and avoidance of the question, Wren turned his attention to the tray and inclined his head towards it. "Whatcha got there?" he asked her, trying to keep his tone deliberately neutral.

Ro hesitated for a moment, analyzing his response, her big, teal eyes searching his face. Wren tensed inwardly in preparation of her using the Force to read him, but felt none of the telltale signs.

Apparently, his evasion was enough of an answer for her. Beaming in pleasure, her smile lit up her entire face. She looked like she'd just gotten the best news in the entire galaxy and Wren wondered a little uneasily what had been so special about his reply, to have caused this much joy. Fek, he hadn't even really answered her question.

"Stellar," she said happily, her expression warm and pleased. Rocking a little to and fro on her heels, her hands clasped behind her back, she looked at him squarely, a suddenly shy smile alighting on her lips. The expression made her look as if she wanted to ask him something that she was pretty sure he wouldn't like and still determined to go through with it.

Seeing that look, Wren was put on the immediate defensive.

"What?" he asked her warily.

"Can I hug you?"

For the second time that day, Wren was left gaping at the little Jedi like a stunned Gungan. "What?" he repeated, too surprised for his usual causticity.

"Hug," she said again patiently, smile still in place. "You know, I put my arms around you. You put your arms around me and pressure is applied on both sides and we are subsumed with warm and fuzzy feelings." She waited a beat for his reply, then added. "It's the social convention among most sentient species to celebrate the occasion of a mended relationship with an exchange of affections, most commonly accomplished by a display of tactile contact. Among Humans, this is most commonly achieved through the means of an embrace."

He was pretty sure he was staring at her now. "What?" he asked again, even as he was starting to feel like a demented parrot.

"An embrace. Also known as a squeeze, a cuddle, clutch or cradle. In laymen's terms: a hug." The rocking of her heels grew in intensity, as did the shyness. "I very much feel like hugging you. I love it when people make up."

He leaned away from her as far as he could given his position, hoping his rejection of that ridiculous concept was plain to see on his face.

"Absolutely. Kriffing. Not. I don't hug."

Her face fell. "But everyone likes a good hug. It's good for the soul."

"Ro," he growled warningly. She was pushing it again. He might find her semi-tolerable company, but that did not mean she could take liberties with him. If she even _tried _to follow through on her asinine impulse he would be walking out of this ship before she could say, "Cookie."

Ro stopped rocking, her face turning serious and thoughtful. Apparently, she'd caught on to the fact that she was pushing the limits of his tolerance.

"'Kay," she said and shot him an apologetic smile. "No hugging. Consider it noted that you are officially too cool and tough to hug."

She looked down at the tray, idly poking at one of the slices of fruits, then glanced back up at him again. "But for the record, I am glad that we made up. I like talking to you. You're a lot of fun."

He looked away from her, feeling his body slightly relax at her words. He couldn't remember the last time someone had appreciated his company. Probably not since Kamino and Thrush.

"You still haven't told me what the fek that stuff is that you want me to eat," he finally said.

A relieved smile graced her lips and the impish gleam returned to her eyes.

"Trade off," she told him. "I feed you when you take your boots off of my table."

Wren glanced at the offending boots, still propped comfortably on top of the durasteel table. Taking his own sweet time to decide on what to do, he very slowly swung his feet back onto the floor. Ro flashed him a toothy grin and plopped herself into a chair across from him.

Wren eyed the plates with interest. They were heaped with what appeared to be largely pastries and sweets of various kinds, with sliced pieces of fruit scattered in-between. It wasn't the most nutritious meal, but he felt his mouth watering just the same. His hyper fast metabolism meant that he could always eat and like all clones he had a ferocious sweet tooth. It seemed Ro did as well.

Wren pulled one of the plates and mugs towards him, taking a cautious sip from the latter's contents. It was definitely not caf. It actually tasted like…apples. Tart apples; the taste of which was augmented by sweetening and spices that he couldn't name, but which left a pleasant aftertaste on his tongue.

"That's mulled cider," she told him as she cradled her own mug in her hands.

"I thought Jedi only ever drank tea," he said and took another sip of the cider. It wasn't bad.

Ro chuckled. "Don't spread it about, but I don't actually like tea, unless it's for smelling."

"No caf?" he wondered.

That elicited another round of laughter. "No, no caf. I tried it a few times and got so hyper that Eda threatened to pin me to a chair with butter knives. I decided it wasn't worth the risk."

Wren had no idea who this Eda person was, but once he began to think about Ro on caf, he shuddered. Kriff, now there was a thing to avoid at all costs.

They sat in silence for a while, eating and drinking. It wasn't a bad silence, Wren thought. Nothing like the silences he'd endured when sitting in the mess and the troopers across from him avoided eye contact just so that they wouldn't have to acknowledge his presence. This was almost….almost companionable, if he remembered the feeling correctly.

"So?" Ro asked after polishing off a pastry stuffed with some type of creamy paste. "Care to share your thinks?"

Wren took another swallow of the cider to clear his mouth, then shook his head. "I'm no Jedi, so as far as I'm concerned, most of what you told me sounds like fekked up gibberish. A trail is there or it isn't. You must have lost him at some point. Maybe while you dove under that dumpster? You did say you lost visual."

It was so easy, he realized, to fall back into old habits. This was the type of thing he'd used to discuss in class during his ARC days; analyzing a trail, determining search patterns, going through differing scenarios. Honestly, he'd begun to think that he'd lost most of that training.

Ro was shaking her head in answer to his words. "No, that's not it. The Force…it is like a visual trail, to me at least. And to me, it's like he just grew wings and flew away." She sighed. "Nothing in this case fits together, not even the profile. He's a serial bomber without a grudge, as far as I can tell. His bombings spread terror, but he's not a terrorist. He has a pattern and then he drops it. He goes from killing no one to initiating a massacre. He uses detonite, then switches to some unidentifiable incendiary substance. He's organized and then he goes wild."

"Jango," Wren put in.

Ro blinked at him in bewilderment and Wren felt a slight tinge of gratification at being able to stump her for once. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"When someone goes off the beaten path or exceeds the normal parameters, we clones say he went Jango. Basically means he went bandit. Or AWOL, depending on the situation," he explained and bit into something vaguely shaped like a Wookiee's paw. It was flaky and filled with small nuts and fruits.

Ro cocked her head to the side, thinking it over. "Isn't Jango the guy whose DNA you're based off of?"

"The one and only," Wren said and tried dipping the Wookiee paw into his cider. Dipping his ration bars into his caf usually tasted pretty good. "Or at least," Wren amended, "he used to be. The stinking barve." He took a bite of the pastry and grimaced. The taste wasn't bad, but the flaky dough was now soggy and falling apart. Not very appetizing.

"Sooo," she said slowly, "you named something bad like going AWOL after you creator?"

Wren gave her a blank look while he chewed, revealing nothing.

"'Kay," Ro said. "Don't wanna talk about that. So back to business. This rat, he goes all Jango on us. Why? And what does this mean? After what happened on Drezd'any Street, the profile fits even less than before."

Wren leaned back with a sigh, his stomach full for now. Lifting his mug, he swirled the remaining liquid about, watching it pensively.

"Tell me again what happened," he said. "From the moment you were in the crater."

Ro nodded, closed her eyes and began to recite the events to him again without a word of complaint. Her second recounting, remarkably enough, did not vary in the least from the first.

Wren, listening to her, raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. She must have a damn good memory, to be able to get the details right again and again.

"'Kay, so I was in the crater, where the tapcaf used to be. I went through the evidence grid laid out by the cops, working myself through clockwise. I used my glowrod to illuminate the ground, to see if the ERTs missed something. I found some pieces of frags, but they were things that belonged to the kitchen. I went on till I was right where I sensed the bomb had gone off. I crouched down and tried to use the Force to get a sense of what happened. I was hoping to catch a whiff of the bomber, like I'd done at the residential block, but it was hard, because off all the ambient emotions. So I concentrated really hard and then I felt…I felt…" She crinkled her little nose in thought, which reminded Wren of a Lepi scenting a wet Togorian.

"I felt," she finally went on, "pride at what he'd done and satisfaction, but it was all jumbled together and raw, like a kid who hasn't yet learned to tamper his feelings. And he was eager to be there, happy even. But above all else he was…he was…" She faltered again and Wren saw her eyes rapidly shuttering from side to side as she tried to pin something down.

Wren, sensing she'd hit on something, eagerly leaned forward; bracing his elbows on the table. "What?" He prodded. "What else did you pick up?" He coaxed her, trying to keep his voice level so as not to interrupt her train of thought.

"Hungry," she said at last. "He was hungry. But it wasn't physical hunger. It was hunger of the mind; his twisted mind. He fairly burned with it." She inhaled sharply. "He burned…and then he went cold."

Ro's eyes sprang open and she stared at him, astonished at her own realization. "He went cold," she whispered, her face revealing a dawning realization. "That's why I couldn't find him anymore. Because he went cold."

"What the _gfersh _is that supposed to mean?" he asked her, frustrated at being kept out of the loop.

"He went _cold,_" she emphasized the last word. "And before that, he was burning. Burning as in hot and hot as in passionate. Don't you see? Before, he was all passionate and _emotional. _That was why I could pick him up so clearly and that's why he sort of felt like a kid to me. Kids feel things intensely, honestly, without restraint. But we adults, what do we do?"

"We analyze," he said carefully. He thought he might see where she was going with this. "We're aware of how our feelings might influence our actions, what they can tell other people about us."

"Right," she was nodding along vigorously. "Adults tamper their feelings by thinking about them. Through logic. Logic is without emotion. It's pure reason. That's why I lost him in the Force. He shut down his feelings and got all logical, like a droid."

"So he's a borg, like Grievous?" Wren speculated.

But Ro was already shaking her head. "No, I don't think so. A cyborg would stick out around here like a naked Zeltron at a nerf and Wookiee show. Besides, those kinds of enhancements leave traces in the Force. _That _I could pick up. No, this guy can simply switch to cool, unfeeling logic in a mynock's minute."

"Which explains why you didn't feel anything like a grudge at the first four bomb sites, right?" He concluded.

She nodded.

Wren tapped one blunt finger against the tabletop, thinking. His mind felt like it was going a parsec a minute, the first real mental challenge it'd had since he'd been kicked out of ARC training. It felt good. Very good.

"But your profile said that a serial bomber has to have a grudge. That's part of the main MO."

"Yeah."

"But this _shik _doesn't have an effing grudge, not from what you described. And the only targets that meant anything to him were the ones where people got killed. Or where he killed them on purpose. The rest was just…" he waved a hand in the air, then stopped abruptly.

"The rest," Ro picked up. "Was just…logical."

The two stared at each other as the pieces finally began to fall into place.

"He picked the first four," Wren said, "because they were logical targets…"

"…that fulfilled his purpose," Ro concluded.

"And the last two…"

"…were the ones _he _wanted." Ro buried her face in her hands, groaning. "Snot."

"Kriffing right," Wren snarled, his upper lip curling in disgust. "This isn't a serial bomber. This effing _raim _of a sorry ass bit of _munk _is a hired killer."

"It's even worse," Ro moaned into her hands. "Don't you see? The _hunger_? He's not just a hired BH bongo. He's a serial killer."

* * *

**Translation: **_gfersh =_ an adaptable expletive (Rodian), _shik =_ a vulgar term to describe someone one despises, _raim =_ a curse word, _munk =_ expletive indicating a form of excrement (Stassian), _BH bongo =_ Bountey Hunter assassin, dealer-slang to indicate a bounty hunter, often failed, and thereby willing to be paid for assassinations as well


	24. Chapter 23: Puzzle Pieces

**Author's Note: **Thanks a bundle to the people who made the **Criminal Minds **wiki and to **Criminal Minds **creator Jeff Davis and all the people who consult for the show. I could never have come up with all this stuff on my own.

* * *

**Puzzle Pieces**

"_Truth grew in my mind like a fungus, and though I tried to sleep it out, there was no resisting the epiphanies."_

_- Donald Miller, _Blue Like Jazz

* * *

_Assembly House, the government block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Tessa attempted to type in her security code into the keypad without upsetting the stack of datapads and flimsi files she clutched under one arm, and the tray laden with sandwiches, a pitcher and glass she balanced on her other hand.

Not for the first time did she wish that the office for the Planetary Leader did not require such stringent security measures, but when Cebz had first taken office, the space had been hopelessly vandalized in a matter of days. This way, at least, any mischief was contained to the outer offices, which were easily cleaned and contained no valuable paintings or sculptures. Tessa could tolerate a few clever acrobatics when it came to typing in a her codes; better by lightyears than scrubbing graffiti and unidentifiable - and unmentionable - liquids off of walls.

The light on the keypad flashed green and the door to Cebz's office swished open. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Tessa bustled into the Planetary Leader's office.

Cebz was, as usual, at her desk, working. The Marit almost never rested, taking only the most minimal of time to eat a snack about every four hours. Tessa had no idea if this strict regiment was due to the Marit's own work ethics or if her biology allowed her to go none stop for days at a time. Either way, Cebz was a glutton for work and that was a good thing, because these days, there was a lot of that to go around. Eyat, not to mention the rest of the planet, was an absolute mess. People were still digging what remained of the cities out of rubble and sometimes, looking out of the window of her apartment and seeing mounts of broken duracrete and wood, Tessa despaired at the thought that things might always remain that way. Over two months had passed since the Battle of Gaftikar had ended - if you could call a fight that took less than a day a battle - and the Gaftikari still hadn't managed to get back on their feet. It was worrying at times, if not downright demoralizing.

Placing the tray on one of the small tables situated around the office's walls – there was never any space for it on Cebz's littered desk – Tessa threw a quick look at what her boss was doing, brushing a stray strand of red hair from her forehead as she did so.

Cebz was speaking with someone on her holo terminal. The figure was Human and female, but that was all Tessa could tell from where she was standing. The holographic figure was no more than a few centimeters tall and had her back to Tessa.

"I understand, Senator," Cebz said in her usually clipped voice. The Marit spoke without a hint of an accent to her Basic. Really, just by listening to her, you'd never guess that Cebz wasn't Human. "You can imagine that this matter is of great concern to Gaftikar."

"I do understand, Leader Cebz," the woman from the holo said. She had a light, cultured voice; definitely not Gaftikari or even Outer Rim. "That is why I wished to speak to you directly. I believe that if you were to address the Senate personally, your word might carry more weight in the final decision."

Tessa froze in her task of rearranging the files into order of importance. Address the Senate? That was the first Tessa had heard about it and if Cebz was planning to speak to the Senate, then she should have been told. After all, she was Cebz's personal aide.

"You believe that I might appeal to their sentimental side?" Cebz queried in her usual direct manner. "Forgive me, Senator Amidala, but I was not aware that the Senate had a sentimental side."

Tessa ducked her head, fighting a smile even as she strained her ears to listen. In the month she'd been working with Cebz, Tessa still hadn't figured out if the Marit possessed a sense of humor or not. If she did, it was a very dry one. But that name, Senator Amidala, she knew that name.

Tessa had been working for Gaftikar's administration for three years now and while Gaftikar had never really been a player in galactic politics, neither had its government spent the last five years with its head in the dirt. The name Amidala was well known in the political circles, even on a boondocks world like Gaftikar. But why was _the _Senator Amidala calling Cebz? And why should Cebz address the Senate? The Senate hadn't been interested in Gaftikar since the battle. No one had, aside from Shenio Mining.

"I can understand your reluctance," Senator Amidala said; her voice, though made tiny through the speakers, still rang clearly through the office. "Certainly the Senate has done fairly little to earn the trust of the Gaftikari. But I and many others of my colleagues do not wish to see your planet lose its right to self-governance and we will fight for you to the best of our abilities. But you are Gaftikar's elected speaker, the voice of your people. If you speak, then the Senate will be forced to listen."

Tessa wasn't sure if she could breathe. What was the senator talking about? Lose their right to self-governance? How could….that couldn't…they couldn't….

They were a _democracy! _No matter how the current social structure of Gaftikar had come about, Cebz had been elected into office through the democratic process and so had the rest of the planetary council. The Senate couldn't just take that away from them. Could they?

Tessa clutched a stack of files to her chest hard enough to bend the edges of one of the datafiles.

But they could, she realized. The Senate could take away their right to self-governance, if a state of emergency was declared and martial law initiated.

Tessa didn't hear the rest of the conversation; her mind was too busy putting together all the pieces. Politics had been an interest for her since childhood. She knew Galactic and civil laws better than most on the planet, one of the reasons why Cebz had asked her – a Human – to become her personal aide.

The facts were that there was a war going on and there was a bomber loose on the planet who could very well be a Separatist agent. And Gaftikar's Human population had fought with the Separatists. And lost. That would make anyone suspicious.

Tessa reeled a little as she realized just how suspicious some of these circumstances might look to politicians on distant Coruscant. And over the past year, the Senate had proven itself quite willing to solve its problems by throwing clone troopers at them.

_And those clones would be the one's in charge then, _she realized, thinking of the big, heavily armored men that were constantly patrolling the city, with their guns and their eerily blank, helmeted faces. Men who were, by all accounts, more droid than flesh, would rule her planet. And a Planetary Administrator. With the civilian government disbanded, the Senate would _assign _Gaftikar a Planetary Administrator, someone from outside, who didn't care the least about Gaftikar's problems and its people, because they'd be answering to Coruscant and not the Gaftikari.

_It's happening, _she thought. _What they've been saying is true. The Republic really will take away all our rights._

"Ms. El'ion?" Cebz's voice startled her so badly that she gasped, dropping the files she'd been holding.

"Oh," she cried, dismayed. "Leader Cebz, I'm so sorry." She quickly bent down to gather up the files, casting nervous glances at Cebz.

The Marit had obviously finished her holo-converence and was staring at Tessa from behind her desk. It was difficult to read those red-pupiled eyes, but the angle of her muzzled head gave the impression of curiosity.

"Is everything alright?" Cebz asked. "You do not normally drop things."

Tessa straightened the files, trying to hide the trembling of her fingers. She wasn't sure if Cebz was asking out of concern for her, or simply commenting on the abnormality of her aide's behavior. Normally, Tessa might have taken the time to puzzle it out, but not now. She was too flustered now.

"I…"she struggled to come up with an adequate explanation. Had she been meant to hear that conversation? Cebz hadn't done anything to hide it, but then, subterfuge was not a Marit strongpoint. "I fear that I'm not feeling well, Leader Cebz."

The Marit looked her up and down in one of those quick, darting movements that were so disconcerting to most Humans. "Your color does appear paler than normal," Cebz remarked. Then she cocked her head to the other side, her tail swishing slightly from side to side. Cebz worked standing up like all Marits, so her tail had plenty of room to move. Tessa had never seen a Marit sit or lie down.

"Do you wish to return home and rest?" Cebz asked her in a surprisingly solicitous tone of voice.

"I-I," Tessa swallowed. "Yes, I would." Quickly, she placed the files on Cebz's desk, bowing a little towards the much shorter lizard. "Thank you. I think the last few days have just finally caught up with me."

Cebz said nothing, but continued to stare into her face with a disquieting directness. Tessa wondered if the lizard had any sensory organs that might alert her to the fact that her aide was not actually ill, merely shocked into stupor.

"Very well," she finally said. "Please feel better soon and send in Poskz. He can take over for you, for now. It appears I have a speech to prepare for."

Tessa bowed again and had to restrain herself from running out of the office. Her mind was racing at faster-than-light speeds, trying to puzzle out everything that had happened in - she glanced at a convenient chrono - the past eight minutes. Cebz hadn't asked her if she'd heard what Senator Amidala had said, nor had she asked Tessa to remain quiet on the subject. But Cebz had asked for Poskz as Tessa's replacement and Poskz's specialty was constructing documents in Basic tailored towards a Human audience. The lizard was _not _Kap'Chen, who was the media consultant, nor even Labez, who was the Marit assigned to run the rebuilt HNE station. Cebz was obviously preparing to address the Senate, but making no move to inform the Gaftikari of what was happening.

What did that mean?

Would Cebz inform her people after she had a viable speech prepared or did she intend to keep the threat of martial law a secret? And if so, for what reason? To keep public opinion of the Senate and Coruscant from dropping? To avoid stirring up the GFH? Or was it simply that she didn't care enough to keep the Gaftikari informed? Was this just another difference between Marits and Humans?

At the back of her mind, a small voice whispered that she might have misunderstood, but Tessa doubted it. Senator Amidala's words had been pointed and clear and Tessa was certain of her deductions. But as she walked through the corridors of the Assembly House as if caught in a bad dream, Tessa could not help but think of the rift between Marit and Human society and her responsibility towards her fellow Humans.

Head swimming with doubts and questions, Tessa still remembered to tell Poskz that Cebz wanted him in her office, though she could not really recall the conversation she must have had with the Marit. Her mind in a turmoil, at the thought of what she'd overheard she was overcome by such nausea that she actually thought she just might _be _ill.

She probably should lie down. But first, she had to tell someone of what she knew. There was simply no way that the Gaftikari could allow their planet to fall under martial law and Coruscant's rule. Not without a fight, anyways.

But who to tell? And should she?

Tessa just couldn't decide.

* * *

_Onboard the _Mockingbird, _the landing pad, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Ro had given up on sitting and was busily pacing the length of the galley, her hands fiddling with her holo-locket as she thought.

From the corner of her eye she saw Wren gazing contemplatively into his refilled mug. Ro figured from his expression, the trooper was probably wishing for the mug to be filled with something hardier than cider.

Ro abruptly halted in her tracks, crying out in exasperation at herself. "I can't believe I did that. How could I have been such a _stoopa_?"

From the very beginning, everyone had told her that this was a bomber case. It was a not totally illogical conclusion, given the fact that this rat did use bombs, but she never should have let herself be led by the conclusions of others. It was a rookie mistake. First rule of investigative service was go in with an open mind, not foregone conclusions. Just look at the evidence and follow it where it led.

She hadn't done that. She'd let herself be influenced by the opinions of others and had tried to make the evidence fit her assumptions. She'd thrown her entire case off track, simply because she hadn't made the effort of starting completely fresh in her investigation.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she muttered under her breath and started pacing again. If Eda found out about this, the formidable older woman would pin Ro's ears behind her head and feed her to a sarlacc. And rightly so.

_I've gotten complacent, _she thought contritely. _Things have been going so smoothly, I forgot that this is real life and life can kick you in the cargo hold faster than a squall can jump. _

She regretted her mistake, but Ro had never been one to wallow in self-pity or mourn over spilt milk. The point was that she'd made a mistake, recognized it and now had to work towards rectifying things. She had to go at this from a new angle, work as she was supposed to and go with the evidence. And the evidence was painting a pretty bleak picture.

"Not that I'm not enjoying the show," a laconic voice drawled, "but what the hell difference does it make if this barve is a hired killer, serial killer, bomber, or Grievous in an effing top hat?"

Ro looked up at Wren, momentarily startled by the question. She'd thought that was obvious.

_More assumptions, _she thought impatiently. _Ro, when are you going to learn that assumptions are going to get you wookienated one of these days?_

Of course Wren wouldn't understand the significance. He may be a hunter, but he'd obviously not received the training she'd gotten. He saw things from the perspective of a predator hunting down prey. Which wasn't a bad thing at all. Predators were always good to have around in _bombad_ bad situations. But she was an investigator and she'd learned to watch for those minutiae that might give her an advantage in _catching and apprehending _rather than blasting a rat to his Maker.

"First off, this rat ain't no hired _killer,_" she explained, emphasizing the killer part. "He wasn't hired to kill anyone, that much we can tell from the first four bombings. All of those were at unpopulated locations and happened at times when civilian traffic would be nonexistent. No, this rat was hired for one thing and one thing only: to spread terror among the population."

Wren grimaced at her words. "Don't tell me you're buying into Gaff's theory that this is a Separatist attack," he said, his words dripping with disdain for that possibility.

Ro gave him a tight little smile. Goodness, but those two were like two wet tooka cats in a bag. "No," she assured him. "I don't. A Separatist operation doesn't make sense. When they zoom in on a planet, they undermine the Republic's credit and then present themselves as the liberators, like they did on JanFathal."

Wren made a rude comment at this, which Ro ignored. Really, where had he learned such language? That man could make a drunk Gamorrean pirate blush.

"That was their tactic at the start of the battle for Gaftikar. Kezner said it himself, the Separatist promised the Humans the right to self-government that the Republic was denying them. But now," she shrugged. "No big speeches and no promises. You guys have been monitoring the comm frequencies and haven't picked up any encrypted chatter, right?"

"Not even the creak of rusty servomotors," Wren admitted and sipped at his cider, pulling a face at the liquid though Ro noted wryly that he licked his lips to get the last of the drink.

_Tough guy, _she thought affectionately.

"So the CIS isn't riding in to play the hero and right now would be the best time for it."

"And they've never really shown an interest in this kriffing dustball," Wren put in. "The Battle of Gaftikar was pathetic. Even this bunch of rookies could have taken the planet with the resistance the Seps and the local mongrels were putting up."

"'Kay, so no Seps," Ro said and ran one hand along the black silk string of her locket. "That means a third party is involved, because there's no reason for the Republic to orchestrate something like this."

Wren cast her a genuinely suprised look, devoid for once of his sarcasm. "You actually thought the Republic might have something to do with this?"

Ro gave him an ironic smile. "I'm not as naïve as I look, cookie. I'm well aware that the Republic isn't all the glamour and shine it pretends to be. Unlike some, I look at the dirt of my government. I see the slave trade that's going on; I know what our scientists did at Equanus. Not to mention what's happening on Drongar and that business with the bota." She shook her head, then pushed back stray strands of pale blond hair. She really needed to redo the knot she'd put her hair into at the start of the day.

"The Republic's got just as many skeletons under its bed as the CIS."

"Tsk, tsk, _cheeka,_" Wren drawled lazily. "Bite your tongue. If I were a good little loyal clone, I'd be running to GAR HQ now and filing a report about seditious talk and traitorous behavior." Though his tone was relaxed, the sharp and intent gaze he fixed her with belied his joking mood. Oh, he was watchful this one; always calculating, always testing, trying to figure her out. There was a lot of untapped talent there, she could tell.

"And while you're at it," she told him in a tone that was all helpfulness and sincerity, "you can report yourself for dereliction of duty, disobeying direct orders and being a general grumpy curmudgeon." She cocked her head at him as he snorted in wry amusement at her wit. "Now that we've established that we're both enemies to the system, can we get back on the unirail? Remember? Uncontrollable serial killer on the loose?"

Wren sighed, as if he were terribly put upon. "What does it matter what you call him? A barve is a barve."

"That's where you're wrong," she argued. She came to stand before him, snatching up a leftover piece of goldenfruit and beginning to nibble at it. "It's important to understand who you're chasing. Knowing what makes this guy tick will tell us how he might zag. We need a working profile. One that fits the facts."

"Fine," Wren said and rolled his eyes. "Educate me."

"'Kay." She hummed a few strains from the Mantooine Minuet in thought, before she settled herself back in her seat. Propping her elbows on the tabletop, she went through her reasoning, feeling a little bit like she was back at Odd Ends with Shiv and Eda; going through old case files with the old pair, learning the ropes of profiling.

"So what makes a serial killer? First off, you need to have more than three victims."

Wren cast her a sardonic look. "I think it's safe to say we got more than three bleaters dead, at this point."

Ignoring him, she went on. "Second, the kills occur at different locations."

Now he was looking thoughtful. "Check."

"And third, the rat has a cooling off period."

He titled his head slightly forward, frowning at her. "Was that what that whole seven days was about? His cooling off period?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Then why did he stop? He sure as kriff hasn't been cooling his engines lately."

"I'm getting to that," she told him and took a bite of the piece of goldenfruit she'd almost forgotten she'd had. "I told Master Windu yesterday that this rat displays signs of organized and disorganized behavior."

Wren sighed and leaned forwards, propping his own elbows atop the durasteel table. "Alright, I'll bite. What the fek does that mean?"

"It means," Ro explained patiently, "that he is organized in planning his attacks. He chose his targets with care, all six of them. And the bombs he's using are well made and controlled enough so that they only do the damage he wants them to. He's employing forensic countermeasures. But then he breaks from the pattern and he runs the risk of being seen by going back to his latest crime. That demonstrates a lack of discipline and organization. So he's a mixed type and that means, sooner or later, he'll make even more mistakes. He might leave behind evidence at a crime scene and people are definitely going to start noticing him. He'll begin to display his psychopathic tendencies openly and he'll stand out in his immediate environment."

"That's good for us, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, then shook her head, making the loose strands of hair fly about her. "And no. With this rat's level of organization, he'll be able to tell that he's losing his grip. It'll add to his stress, which in turn will fuel his desire to act out his impulses, which will again lead to further mistakes. He's working himself into a cycle of escalation and with his sociopathic tendencies..." she trailed off, simply shaking her head.

Wren tapped one blunt finger distractedly on the tabletop. He was nodding along with her words, but she could tell he was mulling something over. "What do you mean with 'escalation'?" He raised an eyebrow at her questioningly. "That doesn't sound good."

"It's not," Ro said heavily. "See, the one other thing that earmarks serial killers, aside from the blatantly disorganized types, is that they have a ritual. Killing for them is a need…a _hunger_." She saw his eyes widen slightly with understanding.

"Like what you felt," he concluded.

"Yeah. And to fulfill this hunger, serial killers build themselves a ritual. They always kill in the same way, or do the same things to a body, or listen to the same emo song beforehand. Something is always the same. In the case of our killer, it's the way he kills. This rat kills with bombs and fire. That's his ritual." Even as she spoke, Ro could see all the pieces of the puzzle starting to fit themselves together. Things were finally making sense. The only problem was, she didn't like the picture that was emerging.

"But here's the shimmy. With every repetition of the pattern, his hunger only grows. This rat, cookie, he's a sociopath clean through. He doesn't care about anything but satisfying his hunger." She couldn't help the shiver that ran through her as she recalled his twisted Force-signature. This rat was her exact opposite, a being without any empathy. It was like looking into a distorted mirror and the reflection was giving her the galactic crawls.

Swallowing, she forced herself to continue, suppressing for now the memories of her encounter. "This is a cycle as well and it's feeding into his self-destructive escalation. See, his hunger is causing him to drop other aspects of the pattern, ones that are less important to him. Waiting seven days between strikes, targeting only non-populated areas. I bet you a credit that that pattern was forced on him by whoever hired our rat. But the important thing is, he had enough discipline to keep to that pattern - one that probably went against his baser desires - for four different attacks. But right after he accidentally killed those two Marit technicians, he starts breaking that pattern, going back to his original ritual and now we have two major attacks in two days and a death count that's still climbing."

Wren grimaced in distaste and drummed all of his fingers against the tabletop. Ro noted for the first time the heavy scars lining his knuckles and the backs of his hands. "Killing those two lizards set something in him off," he said and looked off to the side, his expression pensive, eyes distant, like he was recalling some painful memory of his own. "He tasted blood and started loosing it. Three days later, he plants two bombs. One along his old pattern, the other blowing up what he wanted. He was trying to keep it together, fighting the bloodlust."

Ro remained very still, lest she somehow draw his attention. There it was, the thing she'd least expected; she could feel just a smidge of a crack forming in his otherwise impenetrable mental shield. He was freely radiating a deep-seated _regret _and more _pain _than she could have ever thought possible.

_He knows, _she realized with a jolt. _He knows what that feels like, to escalate, to get lost in the rush. _She thought about his irrational outbreak of rage on Drezd'any Street, the constant, ceaselessly tight control he kept over his reactions. It made sense now.

_Shiv would say he's got a berserker inside of him, _she thought. The knowledge didn't frighten Ro, though she knew it should at least worry her. She thought that having a berserk by one's side could be useful. After all, already Wren had an insight into the killer that she could never hope to possess. That could give them an edge. But she also hadn't forgotten some of the stories Shiv had told her, about men in battle who would heedlessly throw themselves into the fray, killing and killing until there was either nothing left to destroy or they themselves fell. A berserk could be an asset. Or a horrible liability.

Fingers snapping an inch in front of her nose made her jump in surprise.

"Still breathing?" Wren drawled at her.

"Sorry. Sorry," she said hastily and polished off the last bit of her goldenfruit. "Got distracted for a moment. Where were we?"

"The rat was losing his frakking marbles," he told her, watching her with amusement. Clearly, he enjoyed startling her.

"Right." She scratched her cheek in embarrassment. "So, the rat, he accidentally killed two people. That was the trigger for his hunger. All of a sudden, he couldn't control himself anymore. He tried sticking to what he was supposed to do, but couldn't. Compulsions like this," she said with a rueful shake of her head, "just can't be controlled. So he starts in again with _his _ritual; killing people with incendiary bombs. But see, here's the tricky bit. To operate like he has, he must've been suppressing his impulses for a while. But starting again after a long cooling off period only puts pressure on the compulsion. He can't really control himself anymore. His disorganized side is taking over. Now, instead of waiting, he sets off two bombs in two days, one bigger than the other. He kills more and more people…"

"And tastes more and more blood," Wren finished for her. "Kripes," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I see where you're going with this. _He's _escalating; working himself into a karking frenzy." He cursed again, this time in Rodese, then pinned her with his dark brown eyes. "Who'd hire someone this effing thermal?"

"Someone who didn't know," she said quietly. "Or didn't care, though I'd bet on the former. We need to figure out who hired him and why and we still don't know how he gets about the city. If he's going off the Deep Core, then people must be noticing him. And given how everyone around here is as paranoid and jumpy as a long-tailed Farghul in a room full of rocking chairs, there's no way someone wouldn't have reported him already."

She sighed, massaging her temples. She'd known that time was getting short, but with a serial killer on a spree, they had even less time than she'd thought. Spree's never lasted long, but they always ended bloodily if the killer wasn't caught. If they didn't figure this out, then their rat might kill dozens more people before disappearing again in the ether, his hunger satisfied for now. She couldn't allow that to happen. This was a rabid rat and needed to be put down quickly.

"Maybe Owen was right," she said with a heavy sigh. "Maybe this guy really is a Nothing Man."

Wren snorted at her words. "Kezner's kid? A liar is more like. I mean, a Nothing Man? What's that even supposed to mean?"

"He wasn't lying," Ro insisted, meeting his eyes to emphasize her words. "And you'd be surprised. Younglings have an amazing way of perceiving the world and most of the time, they're not wrong. I once had a kidnapping case, where my only witness was this four-year-old. She told me that a dragon had come down from the skies and scooped up her parents in its claws. When I found the rat, it turned out it was a Nikto, who'd rappelled down a skyscraper to get at her targets."

Wren crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall again, a look of dissatisfaction crossing his handsome face. He really was a treat to look at, even with the scowl and the scar. "So you're saying it's all a matter of interpretation."

"I'm saying it's a matter of understanding the galaxy. For younglings, monsters and dragons are real. If Owen said he saw a Nothing Man, then that's what he saw. It's just his way of best expressing what his instincts are telling him."

Wren ran his tongue over his teeth and seemed to mull that over.

Ro would have given her last pair of fuzzy socks to know what was going through that cynical skull of his at that moment. He didn't look particularly convinced and she couldn't quite blame him. Owen had helped the best he could, but still, his testimony was pretty thin. Practically non-existent actually. Still, something about what she'd told him must have caught his attention, because he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, his right thumb running over his knuckles.

She'd noticed he did that sometimes; an unconscious gesture that meant he was focusing in and analyzing some small detail.

"Tell me again where you lost the barve," he demanded.

Ro looked at him quizzically, but kept her curiosity to herself for the moment and repeated again the route she'd taken from Drezd'any Street to the park, since she couldn't be completely certain as to where she'd been when she'd lost the trail.

Wren paid her close attention, his thumb continuously rubbing along the scarred and bruised skin of his knuckles.

"Sounds like the park you came out at was Tes'la Park. It's the only really big one in the city. So that means you must have…" his eyes defocused momentarily in thought. "Come through Kabba Street and passed by Nikolass' Diner."

"A diner?" Ro repeated, then grimaced. "Well, that would explain the cabbage I pulled out of my hair after my dumpster dive."

But Wren obviously wasn't listening to her. As realization dawned on his face, he slammed his fist onto the tabletop with all the force of a turbohammer.

Ro, caught off guard by his reaction, jumped a little in her seat. "What?" she asked. "What's the matter?"

"I know how he did it," Wren said and grinned at her with the feral triumph of an akk dog circling his prey. "I know how this rat has been getting about the city. Nothing Man my ass."

* * *

_The holding cells, detention block, Eyat Command Base, five clicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Ro hurried after Wren, having to take two steps for every one of the trooper's. Despite her constant badgering of him, Wren hadn't elaborated on the epiphany that had come to him during their discussion on the _Mockingbird._

She could tell that he was pleased with his discovery, but also vexed with himself and others. Clearly, he was annoyed that he hadn't come up with this answer earlier, whatever it was.

Once they were in the detention block, Wren headed straight for Kezner's cell. He slammed a palm against the lock with enough force to make her wince and the heavy durasteel door cycled open. The lock for the cell's laser shield got no better treatment from the irate trooper and Ro had to wonder who was given the unthankful job of getting the dents out of the walls around this base.

Without bothering to reactivate the laser shield, Wren stalked towards a startled Kezner, who'd been sitting morosely on the cell's bunk, eating from a tray.

At the sight of Wren and Ro, Kezner jumped to his feet and started hollering at them. "I protest this entire situation," he declared loudly. "I've been in here for days. Either charge me with something or el…"

Wren grabbed Kezner by the collar of his shirt and bodily hauled the smaller man to the table bolted to the cell's floor. The rough treatment caught Kezner by surprise and his tray clattered loudly to the floor, gobs and cubes of food splattering about. Ro took one look at the mess and decided the food would probably be improved by the change in location. Force, how could anyone stand to swallow such mush?

A grunt from Kezner distracted Ro from the culinary abomination and she turned about just in time to see Wren actually lifting Kezner off of his feet by the scruff of his neck and depositing him forcefully into one of the chairs.

_You can call that man many things, but soft touch ain't one of 'em, _she thought, torn between outrage at Wren's roughness towards a fellow sentient and amusement at the dumbfounded expression on Kezner's face.

Kezner barked in pain as his shins banged against the table's leg, then tried to protest his rough treatment.

"You can't do this. You don't have the authority to…"

It didn't seem as if Wren was interested in letting the man finish more than a sentence at a time. Reaching into one of his belt pouches, Wren drew out a datapad and stylus and threw both with a clatter onto the table.

Kezner stared at the things blankly, his green eyes showing his confusion.

"Give us the schematics, Kezner," Wren demanded. "_All _of them."

"What are you talking about?" Kezner asked, his bewilderment genuine. "What schematics?"

Bracing one hand on the back of Kezner's chair and the other on the tabletop, Wren leaned in close. "The schematics to the tunnels," he said coolly.

Kezner froze in astonishment, as did Ro. Tunnels? What tunnels?

"How do you know about those?" Kezner asked, his voice no more than a breathless whisper, his face nearly bloodless in shock.

"People talk when they get drunk," Wren told him matter of fact. "You should really tell your flunkies to keep their effing hands off of the ale and their talk about GFH business to the backrooms."

It seemed that Kezner had been temporarily robbed of speech. The GFH leader had been reduced to gaping at the trooper like a malfunctioning droid. Ro hadn't.

"Hold up," she said, stepping into the cell. "What's all this business about tunnels?" She recalled the maps of Eyat and the surrounding terrain she'd studied. "There're no tunnels on any of the maps I've seen," she said in conclusion to her own thoughts.

"That's because they're not on any maps," Wren told her, his eyes still fixed on Kezner. "Those tunnels were added _after _the Marits had completed construction on the town and all the maps of the city were drawn up by the Marits."

"No one was supposed to know," Kezner said quietly, still staring horrified at Wren. "They're the GFH's best guarded secret."

"They still are," Ro interjected, starting to feel put out. She was tolerant of a lot of things, but her curiosity was howling at her and she didn't like to be kept in the dark during an investigation. "I have no idea what this is about." But she was starting to get the idea and didn't like where this was heading. That seemed to be the theme of the day and she didn't much care for that either.

Kezner finally broke eye contact with Wren to stare at her. Shock seemed to have loosened his tongue, because he started talking without further prodding from her, Force-wise or other.

"We built them during the siege," he explained. "Us miners. We used the mining droids. They were all stored in hangars within the city perimeter, so we could still use them. The Marits had cut us off from our mines and we couldn't leave the city to harvest the fields or transport supplies. We were starting to run low on everything."

And things finally clicked into place for Ro. "You used the construction droids," she said slowly. "The same ones you use to dig out the mine shafts and you built _tunnels,_" and she turned her eyes towards Wren, who nodded in agreement with her conclusions, "to get in and out of the city, to draw in supplies from other townships. That's how you were able to draw the siege out for so long. The Marits had you trapped, but they never managed to cut off your supply lines."

"Those tunnels saved our lives," Kezner said, then added with his old venom, "And they would have allowed us to beat the Marits, if the Republic hadn't interfered."

"And you kept using the tunnels afterwards as well," Wren said, then explained to Ro, "During the battle, there was a lot of unaccounted for insurgent movement. We overwhelmed the militia, but we never could quite figure out how they kept managing to pop up out of nowhere like fekking sand worms. And the tunnels are how this barve," a sharp jerk of the head towards Kezner, "and his band of chuff-suckers have managed to get around the city without our patrols picking them up. That's how you got to the Assembly House as well, didn't you?" He snarled at Kezner. "You used the tunnels to circumvent our perimeter lines."

"What other choice did we have?" Kezner exploded, trying to jump out of his seat, but Wren clamped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. "You've been chasing us like animals, monitoring our movements and comm calls. The tunnels are the only bit of safety we have left."

"Did have left," Wren corrected with some disgust. "The bomber's been using them, too." He looked back at Ro. "There's your Nothing Man. The kid was right about that much; he did disappear into thin air. Probably popped down some secret access hatch and moved through the rest of the city via the tunnels."

That seemed to snap Kezner out of his funk. "You can't be serious," he said to Wren. "We would have known if someone else were using those tunnels."

"Would you?" Wren asked back, his tone matching Kezner's for hostility. "That network is huge and you would never have noticed one of your own sneaking about."

"It wasn't us!" Kezner raged. "The GFH wants Gaftikar returned to the Humans, because it's our planet. Why would we destroy the city in the process?"

Out of patience, Ro put two fingers between her lips and let out a high-pitched whistle she'd learned from Artee. Both men flinched back from the sound, but at least they subsided.

She stepped forward, arms crossed over her chest, looking from one to the other. "Let me get this clear," she said slowly. "There's an underground network of tunnels beneath the city that enables people to run about and disappear from sight."

"Like rats in a maze," Wren confirmed.

She pinned him with a narrowed gaze, feeling all of her impatience for him returning. "And you didn't think to mention this earlier?"

Wren drew himself up, his own anger back, though Ro could tell she'd put him on the defensive. "I knew they existed, but I never frakking found most of them. I've been looking into it…"

"Without telling anyone," she concluded and pursed her lips. Force, the man was brilliant, but the incarnation of the figurative lone wolf. "I thought you infantry fellows were all about cooperation and sharing?"

He bristled at her criticism. "Who the hell was I supposed to kriffing well tell?" he demanded of her. "Gaff, so that he could go running to the effing cops, who probably already know about the tunnels? I was better off doing it on my own."

"But now I'm here," Ro pointed out, trying to keep a hold on her frustration. How was it that he could be so stubborn and yet so brilliant at times? "And you should have told me."

"You're a Jedi," he hissed at her in an undertone. "How was I supposed to trust you?"

She didn't really have an answer to that, mostly because his question had hurt her feelings more than she cared to admit. Suspicions against her for being a Jedi were nothing new to Ro. She'd been facing those kinds of prejudices ever since she'd left the Temple. But she'd thought that her actions over the past three days spoke for themselves. Hadn't she done everything in her power to try and show the Gaftikari and the troopers that she would pull her weight and do whatever she could to catch this rat? Wasn't stopping a riot, running through a burning building and helping to fight a firestorm enough to earn her at least a little bit of trust? Apparently not when it came to Wren.

The silence in the cell stretched on to an uncomfortable length. Even Kezner, stuck in the middle, began to shift in apprehension. Finally, Wren broke the tension by turning his attention back to the man. He tapped the datapad. "Draw, Kezner, before I decide that you need to be motivated."

Kezner sneered at Wren. "Do your worst you vat-grown freak."

Wren leaned closer to the man and Ro could see that he was about to make good on his threat. She stepped towards the trooper, putting one hand on his shoulder. He whirled to face her and for a brief moment, Ro was back in the ruins of Drezd'any Street, with ash and destruction all about her and an angry trooper getting ready to lash out at her.

This time, Ro met Wren's furious gaze squarely and she inclined her head to the side just a little. "Let me handle this?" she asked him quietly. "Please."

The "please" seemed to have as profound an effect on him as her calm demeanor. With a visible effort Wren controlled himself and, giving her a sharp nod, he stood back from the table, letting her take the lead.

Ro took up his position of standing next to Kezner, looking down at the seated man thoughtfully.

"I'm a little disappointed in you, Mr. Kezner," she said seriously.

"Why?" Kezner asked her sarcastically. "Because I won't cooperate with a corrupt government?"

"No, because your son showed great courage yesterday and I had thought he might have inherited that from his father."

At the mention of his son, Kezner's face lost some of its angry flush. "Owen?" He asked worriedly. "What does Owen have to do with this?"

"You heard the alarms yesterday?" Ro asked instead. At Kezner's nod, she went on. "There was another attack, this time on Drezd'any Street."

Kezner's face went even paler. "B-but that's in the middle of the shopping district."

"Yes," Ro said quietly and felt the sorrow at all those deaths rise up in her again. "The bomb went off in a tapcaf. The fire traveled outwards and set other shops on fire. A paint shop exploded, as did a few of the tibanna gas lines, before the emergency override system could activate. The result was a firestorm that took out several blocks. A lot of people died yesterday, Mr. Kezner, and your son could have been one of them."

"Owen was there?" Kezner cried and jumped to his feet, his face ashen. Bigot he might be, but he was also a father. "What happened? Is he alright? What about my wife? Does she know? Were they…" He couldn't seem to bring himself to finish the sentence and his hands trembled slightly in fear.

Ro put a hand on his shoulder, pressing the man more gently back down in his seat, using the physical contact to project soothing emotions on a tight band to him. Hopefully, that would calm him as well as encourage his cooperation.

"Your son is fine," she assured him. "He and his friends were playing in the area, but a trooper sergeant was there with his squad, patrolling, and sent them away. He didn't want the children playing so close to the street. As a result, your son was well away when the explosion occurred. He got nothing more than a scratch and a scare."

At the mention of troopers, Kezner's eyes had darted towards Wren, his expression unreadable, but Ro could feel his conflicting emotions. On the one hand, Kezner still mistrusted and disliked the clones, the feelings threaded through with tendrils of disgust at their existence. Probably, that would never change. But those feelings were now warring with his love for his son and his relief that the boy was alright and the knowledge that he had a trooper to thank for it.

Ro had to capitalize on that confusion, before Kezner's narrow-minded views could reassert themselves. Gratitude had a short life expectancy.

She leaned a little closer to the man, catching his eyes and trying to ignore the pong coming off of him. Since being incarcerated, Kezner had neglected much of his personal hygiene.

"The troopers who saved your son and his friends are dead," she told the man. "They died in that attack. You owe them for that, Mr. Kezner, for saving your son's life. But more than that, you owe your son to be a good role model. He had the courage to talk to us, to tell us what he saw before the explosion and we believe that he saw the man who did this."

Kezner swallowed at this bit of news and Ro could feel _fear _and _apprehension _coiling themselves in his stomach.

"Your son helped us, because he understood that right now, right here, there's a monster far more evil about than the Republic and taking him down is more important than the feud with the Marits. Now I'm asking you, do you have the courage that your son has? Or are you going to stick to your petty feelings of self-importance and sit by while your planet burns up around you?"

* * *

With The Rational once more in its place at the back of his mind, he was left free to pace in the darkness of his kill nest. The screens, for once, were off. The room was lit only by a single small glowrod, which emitted just enough light to illuminate his workstation, but which left the rest of the room to the darkness.

He was breathing harshly, teeth gnashing when he wasn't biting at his nails. Periodically, his tongue would dart out to wet his lips. Despite his agitation, the hunger still gnawed at him.

_**Jedi, **_The Rational had hissed at him, as it finally identified the source of its unease.

It was not a word he wanted to hear. Not ever.

Although the rest of the world rarely held any interest for him other than as a means to display his presents, he was not so totally unaware as to be ignorant of the Jedi. The Jedi were dangerous, because like him, they were not sheep.

They weren't wolves exactly either, but they were certainly some type of predator. A tricky predator, because they could hide in plain sight, like he could. That was why even The Rational had not been able to identify the girl as one of them at first. She hadn't looked like the regal, aloof creatures The Rational had memorized as being Jedi. Nor did she wear the beige and brown robes that made these predators so distinct from the rest of the sheep.

She had fooled him; fooled The Rational by shedding her skin and looking like a sheep. But she hadn't been able to hide herself completely and The Rational had puzzled out the last of the mystery. There was a Jedi on this planet and even without The Rational whispering it into his mind he knew that she was here for him.

Predators always sought out other predators and on this planet, he was the only one that fell into the category.

What should he do? What should he do? In all his time, he'd never been on a planet with a Jedi at the same time. He'd always been well away before they could show up. Or had he? Had the Jedi tricked him for all these years, playing games with him, herding him to this place, cornering him on this planet? Was she coming for him even now? Or were more of them on their way?

He gnawed at a finger until he drew blood, then turned towards the next one, his teeth gnawing and gnawing in a paroxysm of chewing motions.

_**Stop. **_The command came from The Rational and went through his head like quiet thunder.

His teeth stilled at his finger.

_**You will need them, **_The Rational explained.

He looked down at his fingers, almost completely obscured by the darkness. The Rational was right, as always. He needed his fingers. They were the ones that made his presents. He let his hands drop to his sides as he stood in the darkness, swaying slightly from side to side.

_**Listen, **_The Rational commanded, its voice inexorable. _**Actions must be taken.**_

Actions. Yes, that sounded good, very good. But what kind of actions?

Another thought nibbled at him. What about the plan?

_**Unimportant, **_The Rational insisted. _**Survival is the top priority.**_

He had no arguments with that. So, what should be done? What was necessary for him to survive?

_**The Jedi must die. **_The Rational whispered the words to him coolly.

He liked that idea. Yes, the Jedi had to die. She'd tricked him. Made him think she was one of the sheep. And she'd interfered in one of his masterpieces. That memory still made his lips twist in sourness and surly hatred.

The Jedi needed to die. There was no doubt about it. But how to do it? Jedi were not sheep; they were predators almost like him. And predators – even the ones that were only almost like him – did not die easily. How did one contrive to kill a Jedi?

The Rational already had an answer ready for him. _**In a storm of fire.**_

He liked the sound of this plan more and more.


	25. Chapter 24:The Threads that Twine

**The Threads that Twine**

_"Assumptions are dangerous things to make, and like all dangerous things to make - bombs, for instance, or strawberry shortcake - if you make even the tiniest mistake you can find yourself in terrible trouble. Making assumptions simply means believing things are a certain way with little or no evidence that shows you are correct, and you can see at once how this can lead to terrible trouble."_

_- Lemony Snicket, _The Austere Academy

* * *

_Office of CEO Luddmilla Lucara, Shenio Mining Industries Headquarters, located at the Senet river, 32 klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Lucara stared at the footage on her office's flatscreen and fought the urge to be sick. She was no stranger to aggression and hostilities and prided herself on the ruthless nature that had made her a branch director and CEO for Shenio Mining. She'd thought she'd seen it all, but this? This was beyond her experience.

The realization shouldn't have been all that surprising. After all, like most civilized beings her aggressive tendencies were limited to the clean and impersonal environs of a boardroom. Her ruthlessness was employed in hostile takeovers and hard negotiations where she needed no other weapons more deadly than her intellect and knowledge of statistics and data.

So what she was seeing now was…

The floating HNE cam droid turned about and tracked the progress of a paramedic and trooper as they ran with a stretcher suspended between them towards the line of rescue workers. The figure lying on the stretcher was hardly recognizable as anything humanoid. The body was covered from head to toe in some heavy layers of cloth. The only way Lucara could even begin to think of the shape as remotely Human was by the arm that was flopping pathetically from the stretcher. Or at least she thought it might be an arm. The appendage was so badly burned and was missing all of the fingers – if there ever had been fingers.

Lucara looked away from the screen and shut down the high-resolution imagery, unable to bear the images any longer, despite the fact that she had pestered the HNE news people into giving her their raw and uncensored footage of the Drezd'any Street catastrophe.

She just hadn't been able to believe the initial reports. She had been sure, so very _sure, _that the entire thing had been nothing but a pretense; some minor incident blown out of proportion by that insipient clone commander so that he could deprive her and her company of their security detail. After all, things like…like _that_…like burning houses and people didn't happen on civilized worlds. Alright, so Gaftikar was about as far from shining and civilized Coruscant as a Hutt was from a Twi'lek dancing girl, but still….But still.

This should not have happened.

Lucara drew a shaky hand across her mouth, then quickly walked over to the minibar that was part of her office's furnishing and took out a bottle of water from the small conservator. Taking long, eager swigs of the water, she hoped to wash away the bile that had been gathering in her mouth.

Once the bottle was empty, she actually did feel just a touch better. More like herself and that meant she was regaining control. And that was good. She needed to be in control of herself so as to be in control of this situation.

_Fist thing first, _she thought as she went back towards her desk, her high heels clattering against the marbled surface of her floor. _Damage assessment. _

Lucara slid her tall frame smoothly into her padded chair and called up her private work terminal, which rose out of the polished surface of her homogoni wood desk with a near silent _swisssh. _

She began tapping almost immediately, her nails clacking against the keyboard as she called up numbers on the area damaged, the estimated loss of goods and materials and the probably cost of rebuilding. It wasn't good. Drezd'any Street had been in the heart of the shopping district and a lot of the bigger stores had gone up in the firestorm caused by the bomb. And there was structural damage on buildings in an estimated five hundred meter radius around the epicenter of the explosion. Repairs and insurance would no doubt drain a good bit of what was left of the planet's treasury and then there was the future cost of reinitiating the trade business.

If…no, _when _Shenio Mining was given Planetary Administrative rights over Gaftikar, then they would have to shoulder much of these costs. It was a nuisance, but it would be a perfect means of demonstrating to the Senate that Shenio Mining in its capacity as temporary Administrator had done more for Gaftikar's infrastructure than the civilian government. Sharing out such a large sum of creds just might convince the Senate to turn a temporary martial arrangement into a permanent contract. And rebuilding the city just might pacify the rebellious elements among the population.

Lucara made a note to contact the company's Public Relations office and have them come up with a few clever slogans. It was about time that those fools earned their ridiculously overstated paychecks.

As an afterthought, Lucara also called up the official numbers of casualties. She scanned the list quickly, her pale eyes taking in little but occupational listings. There'd been quite a few of the miners caught in the blast. Well, that wasn't too much of a tragedy. Shenio preferred working with droids anyways, but there were the psychological factors to consider.

Lucara tapped her long-nailed fingers against the long lines of her homogoni desk, considering how best to tackle this situation. It was clear that things had gotten out of hand and now it was up to her to clean up the mess. And do so in a manner that would be most profitable to the company.

She stabbed at a button on her intercom that would activate her private link with her secretary droid's built-in comlink. "CZ-5, I want you to compile a list of all dead or wounded from yesterday's attack and send condolence messages out to their families. And add an offer for financial support to the messages going out to the families with relatives still in the hospitals." That, she knew, would not be an offer many Gaftikari would be able to refuse. Most of the families here, Human and Marits, had been suffering financially even before the Battle of Gaftikar and burn injuries were notorious for requiring expensive medications and long-term treatments. Even with the best bacta treatments available on the market, a lot of these burn victims would need months of hospitalization and physical therapy. The medical bills would wind up bankrupting most of the affected families. Her offer for financial assistance would appear like a gift from the heavens and have the added benefit of indebting quite a number of local families to the company.

"Yes, Madame Lucara," came CZ-5's metallic voice over the intercom. Despite Serv-O-Droid's best attempts to make their CZ-series sound as Human as possible, the droid manufacturers just never had been able to rid their product of that distinct artificial quality that lurked just beneath their generated voices. "Will there be anything else?" CZ-5 asked her dutifully.

"Yes," she said and pulled a face. "Send another fiv – no sixteen communiqués to the garrison, one every five minutes, with a demand that our security detail be returned to us immediately. Add a copy of the complaint form we sent to Chancellor Palpatine's office." That should show that incipient clone commander that she meant business.

"Right away, Madame," came CZ-5's serene reply. "And I am pleased to tell you that I have dispatched the relevant datafiles to the board of directors regarding Issue M/D-."

"Any response?" she asked, trying to tamp down on any feelings of anticipation. It was bad form to show such blatant eagerness even when there was no one to see and only her secretary droid to hear.

"Final conclusion is pending," CZ-5 rattled off. "Continue as discussed. Plausible deniability necessary."

Lucara sniffed at that last bit. Plausible deniability. As if she would forget something like that. Really, at times she had to wonder at the types of fools on the board of directors. Didn't they understand that she had been doing this for over seventeen years? She knew very well how to make the best out of any situation and keep the company well out of anything that might even smell of suspicion.

"Thank you, CZ-5," she told the droid politely. "There will be no answer."

"Understood, Madame Director," came the almost immediate reply. "I will then see to those communiqués and messages of condolence."

"See that you do," Lucara told the droid and switched off the comlink.

Once more alone in her shining and luxurious office, some of the coolness she'd displayed in her talk with CZ-5 began to slip away from her. Lucara's eyes glanced over at the blank flatscreen, as if fearing those horrendous images would suddenly spring out at her again.

She didn't want to think about that. What had happened at Drezd'any Street was unfortunate, but it was in the past. She needed to turn her attention to more immediate concerns. Such as that incompetent clone commander the Republic had placed in charge of the planet's security. Really, the effrontery of that clone to simply order off her entire contingent of clone troopers! And he hadn't returned them yet either!

It was simply inexcusable. There was nothing left for those clones to do in Eyat and she needed them back here. Security droids were all fine and well, but flesh and blood units could think like flesh and blood assailants. Besides, protecting the Republic's citizens and the Republic's most vital assets was what the clone army had been made for and she and Shenio Mining certainly counted as both.

No, the continued absence of her security detail could simply not be tolerated. The Gaftikari had proven themselves to be utterly unable to understand the importance Shenio had for their planet and until they did, she needed the proper equipment to protect her company. And those clones were part of that equipment.

Lucara tapped her fingers against her wooden desk once more, her nails making rapid _click-clicking _sounds. The more she thought about it, the more it became obvious that the clone commander in charge of the operation was simply not up to the task set before him. Perhaps it was because he was too inexperienced to understand where his priorities should lie, or maybe it was because he was defective in some manner. Either way, she would make it her personal mission to let the Chancellor know that she required some other clone unit to take over command of the garrison once martial law was declared over the planet. Yes, a change in the chain of command was definitely in order.

And then there was that Jedi.

Lucara's wide mouth distorted into a grimace as she recalled the garish appearance of the girl. The indignity of it all, to send a mere _child _to Gaftikar. And a child that was rapidly developing into more of a nuisance than she'd initially calculated.

Turning to her terminal once more, Lucara entered a few commands on the keyboard, then let her pale eyes drift over the text that scrolled down her screen. She let out a frustrated hiss of air as she saw the files the girl-Jedi had been accessing lately. She'd somehow gotten that fat fool Gor'Dan to cooperate and now she was merrily breezing through case files and Intel nodes that only a week ago Gor'Dan had insisted were classified. Not that that had stopped Lucara from accessing them in a different manner, but it was the principle of the thing. Why should the girl receive free access, when _she, _a CEO of a multi-billion-credit company was not?

And what exactly was the girl looking for?

Lucara read through the files her spy program had flagged for her, but she could detect neither a pattern nor a purpose behind the enquiries. What did it matter that three years back a drunk teenager had set fire to a few garbage cans? And why was she bothering with a list of missing pets?

Lucara narrowed her eyes at the list of seemingly random files. Was the girl simply fishing; hoping to find answers by best guess and good fortune?

Her mouth formed a small moue of distaste. Well, what else could you expect from a child? Certainly not reasonable thinking. No wonder the girl-Jedi wasn't coming to the conclusions the evidence was so obviously leading to.

Another thing she would have to see to. The Jedi Order had to assign a more experienced Jedi to Gaftikar, preferably one with experience in dealing with the Separatist. Certainly a Jedi actually fighting with the GAR against the CIS would realize a connection between the attacks on Gaftikar and the Separatists.

But how to achieve that goal?

As much as Lucara was loath to admit it, but the girl had been right about one thing: the Republic's resources were stretched thin and Jedi assistance was no longer as freely available as it once had been. Not even to someone as important as her. So the question was, how to procure a rare resource one wanted and get rid of the relatable rare, but far less welcome resource one already had?

Easy. Simply discredit the latter; make it appear too unreliable or instable to safely work with any longer.

Lucara smiled; a smile that was thin and full of spite and triumph. She closed down the log of police records and accessed a new search program, this one having access to the HoloNet and far more advanced slicing capabilities. She would find everything there was to know about this Padawan Roweena Arhen and by the time Lucara was done with the silly twit, the Order wouldn't dare to use her for investigating the weather on Coruscant.

And it just so happened that Lucara knew a group of senators who would be more than willing to help her take down any Jedi.

* * *

_Military Tactical Command Centre, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Gaff stared at the holomap in disbelief, his eyes moving rapidly from side to side in a bid to take in all of the information.

"This…" he seemed to be struggling for words.

"It's pretty extensive," Ro said wearily from where she was slumped on one of the swivel chairs. Arms folded over the back of the chair and legs tucked beneath her, Ro felt like she was ready for a nap. She really hadn't gotten enough sleep lately. "The tunnels don't just extend throughout the city, but well past it as well. There are even a few that go all the way to the next township and to the mines. That's kilometers worth of area to search. No wonder this rat has gotten around without being seen by anyone. He doesn't need to leave the tunnels unless he wants to."

She gestured at the holomap, feeling slightly disgusted. The projector displayed a holographic, three-dimensional map of Eyat and the surrounding terrain. Beneath the slowly rotating image was a complex network of crisscrossing lines, highlighted in orange: the hidden tunnels of Eyat and the means by which both the GFH and the killer had been moving about unseen.

"We've checked," Ro went on, meaning her and Wren, "and all of the targets that were bombed are close to or directly accessible via the tunnels."

Wren made a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat. He was standing at the other side of the projector, arms crossed over his chest plate and his brows lowered in a thundering scowl that rivaled Master Windu's. He'd let out some interesting curses when he'd seen the extent of the tunnel network and where exactly some of those access points were positioned. Ro'd been duly impressed. She'd heard smugglers with less imagination when it came to spitting out some choice curses.

Gaff's eyes remained fixed on the blue and orange holomap, his countenance slightly shocked. He drew one gloved hand over his face; his eyes closing briefly, as if he were attempting to swipe his mind clear in order to assimilate this piece of astounding news. He looked immensely tired to Ro; his eyes bloodshot and though he was clean shaven as always, their was something haggard to his appearance. She had to wonder if Gaff had slept at all since yesterday.

"And you got Kezner to cooperate?" he asked, utterly astonished. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned unexpectedly towards Wren, his face hardening into unaccustomedly harsh lines of anger. Seeing the change and feeling the rapid shift in his emotions, Ro straightened from her slumped position in alarm.

Gaff was edging towards downright fury.

"And you knew about this all along?" He demanded of the sergeant, his voice raised almost to a shout. "Do you have any idea in what kind of danger you placed F Company by withholding this Intel? The GFH makes it a habit of ambushing our patrols and you just stand by and let it happen, while holding the one piece of Intel that could have told us how to put a stop to them?"

Gaff's was loud, though he wasn't quite shouting just yet. But there was no denying the anger in his words and stance and Ro noticed with worry the unhealthy flush of color creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.

Wren, obviously as surprised by this outburst as everyone else in the MTCC, had first drawn back a little in an instinctive reaction to put some space between himself and the furious commander. But now Ro could feel his own temper flaring in response at the accusations and the sergeant went on the offensive.

"Don't get all high and mighty with me, _Commander_," he said, putting enough venom into the title to make it sound like an insult. "The last time I provided you with valuable Intel you went running to the kriffing red-shirts like a good lapdog. And what the fek did that get us? A frakking pat on the head and the effing GFH got enough time to clear out to take the silverware with them. You don't know kriff about how to run a clandestine operation!"

"But you do?" Gaff asked with obvious scorn. "You're a trooper, Sergeant, albeit one with delusions of grandeur. You might have more experience in the field than I do, but that does not make you an ARC."

Ro felt a flare of…something, shoot through Wren at those words. More rage, but also…apprehension? Or could it be, even fear?

With a snarl, Wren stepped towards Gaff, bringing him into striking distance. "And neither do five months of training with an ARC captain with a stick so far up his arse a med droid couldn't remove it. You're nothing more than an over glorified shiny, _Commander, _who's more likely to get experienced troops killed out in the field."

Gaff drew in a sharp breath at this bit of tactlessness and his formerly flushed face went deathly pale.

'_Kay, _Ro thought with mounting trepidation. _This is getting way out of hand._

"Boys," she called out.

"How dare you speak that way to your commanding officer?" Gaff said, his voice low and almost a growl.

"You're no fekking CO, Gaff," Wren growled right back. "At least, not mine. You're nothing but the kriffing noob I have to baby sit."

"Boys!" Ro said again, louder this time.

"Have to, is right," Gaff shot back. "Or hasn't it ever occurred to you to wonder as to why the 35th would rather do without your _expertise._"

"At least I don't bow and scrape before every bit of brass and official insignia like a Hutt's slave girl about to…"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gaff demanded.

"You know very well," Wren shot back, then rolled his eyes at Gaff's continuous blank expression. "Bad enough you're trying to kiss ass with the civvy politicos, but cuddling up to a Jedi…"

"You leave her out of this!"

"I'm not the one dreaming of taking a ride on the glow stick express…

"You dare…"

Both angry tirades dissolved abruptly into shocked hisses of pain as Ro came alongside Gaff and Wren – who were by now standing toe to toe, yelling into each others face – and took hold of an ear each. She gave each man's ear a hard twist, then yanked down hard on the appendages, causing the Humans attached to them to bend down to her level.

"Would you two, for the love of sweet crumblebuns, act your age and not your boot size?" she told them, utterly exasperated and more than a little put out by the turn in the conversation.

Both men stared at her, neither one daring to try and pull away from her, for fear of what she'd do to their ears, but there were definite winces of pain and squirming.

Ro took a deep breath, getting her temper back under control. She didn't need another physical confrontation, not when she'd just finished moping up the aftermath of the last one.

"On the other hand," she said slowly, her impish nature shining through her anger, even now, "better reverse that. Knowing what I do about clones, your boot size is probably the bigger number."

She shook them both a little by the ears, just to make sure that they were really listening to her. "You two are acting just like the Gaftikari. I mean, what is it with this planet? Has being a curmudgeon finally become catching?"

Gaff winced as he tried to shift himself into a half crouch, hoping to take more of the pressure off of his ear. "Padawan."

"Why can't you two realize that if we want to catch this rat we have to work together?" Ro went on, not at all aware of Gaff's attempt to get her attention. She glared at them both, her brows drawn down into a fearsome scowl. "I don't give a Psadan's patoot about what who knows or who didn't tell who about what. What I care about is catching a rat and for that I need help, so you two," and she gave them another shake by their ears, "grow a pair and stop squabbling like cranky two-year-olds in need of a nap. I mean, I feel like I have to start asking people for their ids to see if they're even old enough to be _in this _investigation."

"Ro," Wren said, more loudly than Gaff.

"I know," she said and sighed. "Not a single person on this base besides me and Kezner actually is over the legal age, because despite being strapping big boys you clones actually are like, what? Adolescents? And I know, that just opens a whole other can of worm suckers…"

"_Ro!_" Both men shouted at her simultaneously.

The sound made Ro jump and, distracted from her rant, she gazed quickly from Gaff to Wren. "What?" she asked, as vexed as a rock-lion.

Wren stared at her pointedly, while Gaff was shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"Ro, let go," Wren finally hissed at her.

"Huh?" she looked at where her fingers still gripped each man by the ear. "Oh, _pifgah_," she said in frustration and hastily let go of their ears. Both men quickly took a few steps away from her, putting themselves safely out of reach of her strong, nimble fingers.

"Sorry," she added, feeling sheepish. "I forgot."

"We noticed," Wren grumbled, rubbing at his ear.

"Yeah, well," she said, trying to work through her embarrassment. "Have I at least made my point?"

No answer from all parties involved.

Ro sighed. It looked like she wasn't done playing mother nuna just yet. Drawing herself up in her best imitation of regal Eda, Ro turned to face Wren full on, hands propped on hips. "'Kay, so here's the skinny, then. He," and she pointed at Gaff, who flinched away from the finger, covering his red and abused ear, "is your commanding officer. Like it or not, he's in charge and I don't care how hard a time you give him, you're just going to have to get over yourself and realize that he needs to know stuff. He's in charge of planning, so that you can run around and do whatever you like. So if you don't start sharing Intel, then your happy days are going to be over quicker than you can say 'shebang'."

Wren scowled at her, the scar at the right corner of his mouth turning the gesture into the promise of a threat. Ro didn't care; she knew she could deal with Wren if he did try something along those lines. She hoped he wouldn't, because she didn't feel like apologizing for hitting him again. Still, if he forced her to…

Something in her eyes must have convinced him that she wasn't fooling around, because after a prolonged and hostile staring contest, Wren gave a curt nod.

Well, that was one battle settled. For now. Something inside her though, told Ro that 'permament peace' wasn't in Wren's vocabulary.

Gaff was the next recipient of her hot glare and the commander stiffened noticeably as her attention fell on him; he was clearly fighting the urge to fall into parade rest.

"Ro, I…" he began.

"No," she said, cutting him off. "No apologizing. Gaff, you're the _commander _of this nerf and Wookiee show. Stop trying to spare everyone's feelings, because you can't and it's not your job. You're supposed to _command, _not do the job of a diplomat and that goes for when you're dealing with him," and she pointed one finger at the scowling Wren, "or the civvies. You gotta realize that sometimes polite and by the book isn't the way to go. If need be, you have to be willing to step on toes and break some bones. Your role is to save lives, not to cater to egos. And you have to start trusting your people to do as needed without your supervision, even when they are one-eyed, egg-sucking sons of slime-devils," she went on. "I don't know what Wren's damage is," and she ignored the indignant snort coming from the trooper, "but he's a smart cookie and so far you've left him lounging about. You're the commander and he's one of the tools you have available to you, so _use him_."

She took another deep breath, then stamped her foot on the ground. "And I'm not some bone for you two anoobas to fight over!"

Ro whirled again on Wren, jabbing his chest plate with her finger. The trooper looked slightly startled at being the object of her displeasure once more. "And if you ever talk like that about me or my personal life ever again, cookie," she threatened, "I'll introduce _both _of my lightsabers to your favorite piece of equipment!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, threat practically sparking off of him. "Are you actually threatening me, _cheeka_?"

She gave him a flirtatious smile, then gently patted his cheek. He jerked his head slightly back from her hand, suspicion written clearly across his face at this sudden change in mood.

"Don't be silly, cookie," she purred, injecting just a bit of husk into her voice. "A little thing like me threatening a big strong man like you." She smiled up at him as he grew ever more suspicious. Then, before he could move away again, she grabbed his ear a second time, gave it another twist and said, "I don't threaten, cookie. I promise."

Ro knew she was treading a dangerous path here. Now that she had gotten a firsthand taste of the dangerous temper that simmered just beneath the surface of his self-control, Ro's Force-senses were constantly alert to the quickly shifting intensity of Wren's anger. She understood that engaging him directly like this, challenging him physically and verbally, was the best way to gain his attention…and trigger another fury-powered attack like yesterday.

It was like flipping a credit chip and placing all your hopes on luck. It was a dangerous gamble and if it backfired, the tenuous peace that had settled between them might very well be shattered for good.

So Ro watched Wren's face intently, keeping herself open to the shifting emotions that lay beneath his anger. She saw his brown eyes darken to almost black as _anger _briefly flared into _rage _and she felt her heart sink a little. She'd miscalculated and pushed to far.

Then, much to her surprise, the anger simmered back down again and his lip curled into something of a smile.

"Fek," he said and there was no denying the admiration in his voice. "You've got some frakking nerves, _cheeka_."

She grinned back at him, so very pleased with both his reaction and his words. It was nice to find someone who didn't just consider her reckless and unbalanced.

There was a creak of someone shifting in a chair and suddenly Ro became uncomfortably aware of the emotional aura in the MTCC. Everyone was staring at them and Ro realized that by confronting Wren head on, she'd moved very close to him. She was actually standing on her tiptoes, one hand still clutching his earlobe and her torso pressed almost flush against his.

_Bantha muffins, _she thought as she felt a flash of something bitter and disappointed come from the direction of Gaff.

Hastily, Ro released her hold on Wren and stepped away from him. Glancing about, she saw the three techs, Sighter, Cyph and Crypt, quickly turn back to their consoles, averting their eyes from the scene.

Gaff was standing off to one side, his arms crossed over his armored chest, his eyes intense as they watched her and Wren. His expression was surprisingly cool and distant, but one hand was gripping his armored bicep hard and his emotions….well, suffice to say that Gaff did not control his emotions quite as well as his facial expression.

It wasn't jealousy exactly that he was radiating. Gaff seemed to understand that whatever friendship was developing between her and Wren, it wasn't nearly the same thing as what he was hoping for between her and him.

But there was no denying that he resented Wren's easy rapport with her and Ro could feel underlying currents of _disappointment _mingled with _puzzlement _that told her Gaff didn't understand how she could forgive Wren so easily for transgressions Gaff viewed as being inexcusable.

_Force give me strength, _she thought, feeling just a tad drained by this constant balancing act she was required to do to keep both Wren and Gaff happy. They were so different, so utterly incompatible with each other that she honestly had to wonder about how anyone could have expected them to work with each other, let alone effectively. From her point of view, it was a galactic miracle that one of them hadn't yet wound up dead and buried.

She gave Gaff a reassuring smile, wanting to let him know that she hadn't forgotten about him, that he was still a part of this team. If you could call a group made up of one highly skilled and talented but ill-tempered Wren and an equally but different skilled and inexperienced Gaff with her acting as a lynchpin a team.

She could think of quite a few people who'd call that type of personality mix a catastrophe waiting to happen.

"So?" she asked into the silence of the MTCC, forcing an overly cheerful note into the question. "Everything squared off? All tempers satisfied? Are we back on track and ready to rumble?"

She looked about her, switching her attention between Gaff and Wren and trying to stamp down on that kernel of desperation budding inside of her as the silence continued to stretch on.

_Please, _she pleaded silently with each of them. _Please someone. Just a little give, that's all I ask. Please. _

"What I'd like to know," Wren finally drawled, "is how we're going to keep our killer from using those tunnels?"

At that moment, Ro could have cheerfully thrown herself at Wren, hugging the stuffing out of the trooper, scowl and all.

The question distracted Gaff from his own feelings, his mind soaking up the problem and turning it over with an intensity that Ro could feel in her bones. Just like that, all the previous doubts and uncertainties fell away from the young commander. His posture noticeably relaxing, he stepped confidently up to the holomap and began pointing at several of the entrance points.

"Best way," he explained, "would be to flood the tunnels, rendering them inhospitable to foot travel. Sighter," he said, turning towards the trooper at the main control console. "Give me an estimate of the length and breath dimensions we're dealing with and volume required to plug the tunnels."

"Yes, sir," Sighter said, his fingers flying over the console before him. A few seconds later, a stream of numbers and calculations began to appear above the holographic representation of Eyat.

Gaff studied the scrolling numbers intently, his brow slightly creased in thought.

"Gas," he finally said. "Our best bet would be to flood the tunnels with teargas. The gas is light enough to spread easily and evenly; it won't simply gather along the ground, like mist. And there doesn't appear to be any large air vents in place that might disperse the gas either."

"Sealant foam would be better," Wren argued. "Anyone and his kriffing uncle can get their hands on a breather mask around here. The miners all have them. All you'd have to do is break into someone's fekking house, or one of the equipment sheds."

"And where do you suggest we find enough sealant foam to sufficiently secure approximately forty-three klicks worth of open space?" Gaff asked, an edge in his voice.

Wren frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, his stance belligerent. "I don't know?" he sneered. "How about from the giant effing mining company just down the road? They use sealant foam all the fekking long day to shore up their bloody shafts."

Gaff hissed in frustration. "Shenio Mining is a civilian-led company," he replied. "I can't simply storm in there and requisition what would likely be their entire stock of sealant foam. For one, I have no authority over them and for another, lack of sealant foam would likely endanger the lives of their workers."

Wren gave one of his trademark snorts of derision. "What workers?" he scoffed. "The only ones they send down those kriffing shaft are clankers. All the wets stay safely above ground."

"Nevertheless, I can't…"

"You won't is more like it," Wren interrupted. "Admit it Gaff, you're scared of that _schutta _harpy Lucara. That's why you've been avoiding her hail of comm calls."

"That has nothing to do with it, Sergeant. I have an operation to run and…"

"_Bastasi!_" Ro broke in, falling into Ansionian as she lost her patience with the continued bickering. "Do I have to make you two stand in a corner? With a lightsaber at your backs?" she added threateningly.

Someone in the back smothered a hasty snicker and she saw Gaff flush slightly in shame for his outburst.

Ro pinned Wren with a particularly pointed look. After all, he'd deliberately baited Gaff, but the trooper only gave her an unrepentant smirk in return. Force, that man loved to push people over the edge for his own amusement.

Ro took a deep breath, determined not to let herself be further antagonized by Wren. If he wanted to be entertained by her, then she'd take it out of him with pints of his own blood. "I agree with Gaff," she announced.

"You do?" Gaff asked her, surprised.

"The fek you do?" Wren said at the same time, outraged.

"Sure," she said and smiled sweetly at them both. "Sealant foam might work better for short stretches, but teargas will cover a larger area more quickly and its none lethal. Anyone caught below while we pump in the gas will be able to climb out instead of being smothered by a foam that hardens to the density of phrik in a matter of a second. I'd like to keep casualties _down,_" she emphasized.

Ignoring the outraged and disbelieving look on Wren's face, Ro turned back to Gaff. "Can you organize that?" she asked him. "I don't think Gor'Dan has the supplies or the men to pull this off."

Gaff rapped his knuckles thoughtfully against the holoprojector, then nodded. "I can. The base certainly has the supplies. I'd still like to include the commissioner and the Eyat police force. They can run interference for us with the civilian government and the locals, in case of trouble."

"Stellar," she said, beaming at him in pleasure for his consideration. She might have criticized him earlier for his tendency to tread carefully about people, but there was no denying that Gaff had a hang for the diplomatic. He'd be a real asset in organizing any joint missions. Ro knew from bitter experience how difficult it was to pull those off with any manner of success.

Gaff glanced at her quickly for her praise, returning her smile with a smaller, though no less sincere one of his own.

"You'll need at least three men per entrance," Wren put in and jabbed a blunt finger into the holomap at various points throughout the city. "If you want to flush out any barves in there, you can't give them time to run out another hole. You gotta trap them, which means one coordinated, simultaneous attack. The gas needs to spread evenly."

Gaff threw Wren a look that was surprisingly jovial, all things considered. "I realize that, Sergeant," he told Wren calmly. "Believe it or not, I was taught how to coordinate a large scale frontal assault." Then, in a quieter voice he added, "Despite what you might think of me, Sergeant, I didn't spend the last ten years recalibrating my blaster."

Despite the scowl on Wren's face, Ro could detect a trace of _amusement _emanating from him at Gaff words. She looked from one to the other, bewildered by the exchange, sensing that the words had meant more than she'd picked up.

_If I didn't know any better, _she thought, _I would swear that Gaff just cracked some kind of joke. _

"Very well, Commander," Wren drawled. "Carry on."

"I will," Gaff replied, with a smile that showed more teeth than was necessary. "And so will you."

At Wren's puzzled frown, Gaff nodded towards Ro. "I will coordinate with Commissioner Gor'Dan and have the tunnels sealed," he said. "You will remain here with Ro and continue working on your analysis of the…" he hesitated, glancing at Ro, "the serial killer?"

"Yeah," she said, not daring to say more in case she somehow interrupted the flow of events playing out around her. She couldn't quite yet believe what was happening. Was Gaff actually…?

Apparently Wren harbored some of the same reserves as she did. "Are you ordering me to stay behind with the Jedi? Without your supervision?"

Gaff looked off to the side for a moment, his lips compressing tightly before he gave a curt nod. "That is correct. You and Ro," and he glanced in her direction again, as if uncomfortable talking _about _her instead of _with _her, "obviously have more experience in analyzing this type of situation than I do. You've already made more progress working together these past three days than I and the police department have. You should continue to do so." He looked down at his boots quickly and Ro could feel him struggling with his desires and his sense of duty. Admitting all of this was so very difficult for him. She had to admire his honesty and fortitude.

"I know my strengths and it is time I employ them," he went on after a short pause. "I will do my task, then wait for further instructions from you." At which point he turned towards Ro, giving her a little half-bow.

Ro smiled back at him, touched by the gesture. "Don't worry, Gaff," she told him quietly. "We wont let you down. We already know more about this killer. Now all we gotta do is figure out who hired him."

"And where his nest is," Wren added, his tone betraying a hint of surliness. Apparently he'd realized that Gaff, by doing his duty instead of staying at Ro's side, was being the bigger man.

Ro gave him a look that she hoped would warn him from spoiling this moment.

Whether it did or not, she couldn't tell, but Wren held his peace for the rest of the conversation.

Gaff too glanced at the sergeant, but when nothing further was forthcoming, he reached into a pouch on his belt and extracted a small, handheld comlink. He handed the device over to Ro.

"In case you find anything," he told her. "The comlink is programmed with my personal frequency, as well as with an emergency override."

Ro fingered the little unit, then slanted a devilish smile at Gaff. "A present for a girl," she teased. "Does this mean we're going steady?"

His answering smile was light and her delight grew as he actually teased her back. "It means," he said, "that your astromech no longer has to hack into the garrison's comm signals."

"He'll be so relieved," she said with a slight roll of her eyes.

Gaff's smile widened just a little and she could see the barest hint of a flush on his cheeks, but Ro refused to feel bad about it. Everyone deserved a little fun and what was more fun than a harmless tease?

_Just as long everyone knows it is harmless, _she reminded herself.

Ro fiddled a little absentmindedly with the comlink and when she next looked up she was just in time to see Gaff disappearing through the MTCC's heavy sliding door.

Wren leaned forward over the holomap, his hands braced against the projector's frame. "We should get started," he said, his face serious now, with no trace of his earlier ill temper. "If this bishwag really is going nova, like you said, then we need to figure out his next move."

"Yeah," she said distractedly, not really listening. She glanced back down at the comlink, then tucked the little device into a pouch on her own utility belt. "Give me a sec, would ya?" she asked. "There's still something I need to do."

Ignoring Wren's discontented frown, Ro hurried after Gaff.

* * *

_A residential block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

"You must have misunderstood, Tessa," her cousin Lahney assured her. "I know things have been bad at the office and in general. The stress is just getting to you."

Lahney padded Tessa's hand where it rested on the scratched surfaced of the quasiwood table. "There's simply no way the Senate would actually go so far as to declare martial law on Gaftikar."

Tessa stared at her cousin's plump and sincere face, then quickly looked down at her half-empty cup of tea, feeling dismal.

After leaving the Assembly House, Tessa had come straight to Lahney's apartment, hoping to pour out all her troubles into her cousin's willing ear and maybe, in the act of telling, come to a decision as to what to do with the information she'd overheard in Cebz's office. And Lahney had been more than willing to listen. She'd always been one of those people who excelled at offering comfort and the moment Tessa had walked through her apartment's front door and Lahney had seen the shocked, slightly dazed look on her face, the woman had gone into comfort overdrive.

Before Tessa had been able to do more than take off her shoes, Lahney'd already brewed a kettle of tea, set out some sweets and opened the kitchen's curtains so that the maximum amount of sunlight could illuminate the homely space.

Her efforts had the desired effect. Tessa had started talking almost as soon as her bum connected with the chair. She'd poured out all of this morning's developments to her cousin; the unexpected comm call from Coruscant, Senator Amidala's request for Cebz to address the Senate on short notice, the fact that the Senate was going to hold a session to debate over whether or not Gaftikar would remain a civilian ruled, democratic planet. Tessa had also included her own conclusions about how this was possible, her fear that the Senate would actually declare a state of emergency on Gaftikar and initiate martial law, with clone troopers as their overseers and an offworlder as a Planetary Administrator.

Lahney had sat through it all, listening patiently without interrupting, only nodding her head every now and again, taking small sips from her own cup of tea.

It had felt good, very good, to unburden herself to Lahney and Tessa was truly grateful to her cousin. But if being a compassionate listener was Lahney's strength, then recognizing stark reality was her greatest weakness.

"Lahney," Tessa implored the other woman. "Think about what I just told you. I heard Senator Amidala – _the Seantor Amidala _– say in her own words that the Senate was going to hold a session to discuss Gaftikar's right to remain a civilian ruled planet. If they're discussing the issue, then that means they might decide to take away that right. They're even likely to do just that," Tessa said, trying to keep the stress out of her voice.

Lahney just shook her head, her brown eyes as serene as those of a tumble bunny unaware of the knife hovering over its neck. She even chuckled lightly at Tessa's words.

"Tessa, you are overreacting."

It was at times like these that Tessa could have happily strangled her cousin.

"Overreacting!" she exclaimed. "I know what I heard. I…"

"No," Lahney interrupted gently, "let me finish."

Tessa subsided, albeit grudgingly.

"What I meant to say is that you, like so many others, have grown to expect the worst of people, no matter what." Lahney heaved a big, dramatic sigh, which made her ample bosom quiver just a little. "Haven't you learned anything from the recent past? We assumed the worst of the Marits and banded against them and look what that got us? A siege war. We expected the worst of the Republic and so we sided with the Separatists and what did that get us? A resounding defeat and a shattered city. And the Marits? They came here with the highest expectations and now they have what they always wanted: majority representation."

Lahney looked at her cousin squarely with just a hint of mulishness in her expression. "And now you're doing it again. I believe that you heard what you heard. You're not the type of person to make something like this up, but Tessa," and the older woman covered her hand with her own. "You're assuming again."

"I'm not assuming anything," Tessa protested. "I know the law. If the Senate moves for a Vote of No Confidence in Cebz's government and the majority votes against her, then the Senate…"

"Tessa," Lahney cut her off again, more sharply than before. Tessa almost jumped at the tone. Lahney almost never got cross with anyone. She was a far too complacent person for that.

"I don't doubt your knowledge of the law," Lahney explained. "But you're assuming from the start that the Senate will vote against us. You're making this sound like its already been decided. You've worked with Cebz for a month now," she added, her voice a little more intense. "Do you have so little confidence in her abilities?"

"I-I…" she didn't know how to answer that. Tessa stared at her cousin's hand over hers, a little lost as to how she could answer that question. "Cebz…she's…well, she's not all _that _bad," she admitted finally. "She works like ten people, but Lahney," she continued, aware of a whine creeping into her voice, "she's not Human."

"Tessa," Lahney said warningly, raising her pale brown brows in emphasis.

"No, I don't mean it like that," Tessa quickly corrected, trying to backpedal. "What I meant is that she doesn't always understand how Humans, or humanoids in general, react or think. She thinks like a Marit, Lahney, perfectly logical and you have to admit, that's not how must people in the galaxy or the Senate operate."

Lahney sighed, giving Tessa's hand another half-hearted pat. "Yes, I do. But that still doesn't mean….Wilky!"

Tessa jumped at the sudden mention of the boy's name and turned around quickly to see Lahney's nineteen-year-old son appear in the kitchen entrance.

"Yeah, mom?" he asked, running his hand through his unruly and tangled hair. Like most of Gaftikar's youths – out of school, unemployed and dissatisfied – Wilky was clad in a jacket made of reptile skin in a rather clumsy and uncouth attempt at provoking the Marits. Tessa noticed that his belt and boots were made of the same material.

Lahney's usually placid face composed itself into a scowl. "I do wish you wouldn't wear that, Wilky. It's unbecoming."

Wilky rolled his eyes dramatically heavenwards, in that typical teenage expression of utter exasperation with one's clueless parent. "Sure, mom, whatever."

Lahney in turn gave one of those typical parental sighs, asking the great ether to give them the patience not to smite their children.

"Where are you going?" Lahney asked.

"Nowhere," Wilky answered with a shrug.

"Who are you seeing?"

"No one."

"When will you be back?"

"Whenever."

Another sigh and Tessa wondered if Wilky realized that if his mother had been a less even-tempered person, he wouldn't be leaving the apartment without scorch marks.

"I see. Well, whenever you're done with going nowhere and seeing no one, there'll be dinner in the oven."

"Yeah, fine, whatever," was the phlegmatic response and with a rustle of his scaly jacket, Wilky was out the door.

Lahney shook her head. "I just don't know what I'll do with that boy."

* * *

Almost as soon as he'd existed the apartment, Wilky had grabbed up his comlink and was compiling a text message to be sent to all of his friends. He was attaching extra heavy-duty warning signals to the message, impressing the urgency that this commo had to be sent on to the next person.

His mother could talk all she wanted about never assuming the worst of something, but Wilky knew better. If the poodoo could hit the exhaust fans, then it would and do so spectacularly, with maximum spillage hitting the little guys.

That's what had happened with the siege war and with the invasion of the Republic. And now that the Republic would have a second chance to invade his home again, Wilky knew it would take it and flatten them completely this time.

He hadn't heard everything that Tessa had said, but he'd heard enough. The Republic was coming and the lizard-queen couldn't do Sithspit about it. So it was time that Wilky and his friends did. And it just so happened that some of his friends had friends who knew people with access to some interesting self-made tech.

It was time the Humans of Gaftikar took back their planet.

* * *

**Translation: **_Pifgah _= an expletive used when one is frustrated (Ansionian), _Bastasi =_an expletive used to indicate one's loss of patience (Ansionian), _Schutta = _an insult reserved for women of poor repute (Twi'leki)


	26. Chapter 25: The Pattern in the Weave

**The Pattern in the Weave**

"_To him that watches, everything is revealed." _

_- Italian Proverb_

* * *

Time passed for him in an unrecognizable flow.

When he was in control, his eyes would be filled with the sight of his hands moving continuously over components, putting them together; shearing and clipping wires, filling containers, carefully setting the timers.

When it was The Rational that took over his mind and led his body, the world dissolved into disjointed glimpses. One moment he would be in his kill nest, at the worktable and the next he was in the darkness of the tunnels. One blink and he was at a ladder leading towards bright, cruel sunshine. Another blink and he was slipping through a crack in the wall of a basement.

There were many places where he could go, few where he could not and The Rational knew them all. More importantly, it knew where he would have to go.

The Jedi had spoiled everything. She was depriving him of the joy of lingering over his feast. Instead of savoring this chance to satisfy his reawakened hunger at his leisure, he would now have to gorge in one single swoop.

The idea was not unpleasing and the thought of so many of his presents revealed to the world at large all at once made his mouth salivate uncontrollably. But he recognized, even without The Rational, that this would be a transitory satisfaction. The quicker he fed, the quicker the hunger would return.

The Jedi had deprived him of months, maybe years of silent satisfaction in which he could rest and simply enjoy the fruits of his art. Worse, she was forcing his hand and he hated to be forced in anything, particularly the handling of his presents. This was his art and she was interfering in it.

There simply was not enough room on this planet for two predators of their caliber. The Jedi would have to be removed, but to do so would destroy all the sheep in the surrounding area. His hunting grounds would be laid fallow and he would have to search for new ones very, very far away. Jedi might hunt alone, but more of these strange wolves were never far off. It paid to lose their trail as soon as possible.

And what better way to do so than in sheets of pure, cleansing fire?

The Jedi had spoiled his time here. But he would enjoy seeing her demise, watching as she was caught up in his net of flame and destruction.

Even The Rational could find some satisfaction in that.

* * *

_Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Ro caught up with Gaff in a stretch of corridor between the MTCC and the garage and her first sight of the commander confirmed the suspicions she'd been harboring since seeing Gaff for the first time that day.

The commander walked brusquely, but there was a definite slump to his shoulders, as if he was weighed down with some unimaginably heavy burden.

The corridor was entirely empty and it was obvious to Ro, still unnoticed by Gaff, that the commander was using this opportunity to let the façade he'd been keeping up crumble just a little.

There was so much _weariness _in him at this moment, a complete change from the bursts of animation he'd shown during their discussions in the MTCC. And there was also _pain. _A pain that was slowly beginning to settle into him and which he seemed to be accepting with resigned but open arms.

Ro had recognized that particular brand of pain immediately, of course. Loss, mixed with guilt and disbelief and grief; it was a combination she'd been confronted with nearly ever time she'd had to speak to a victim's family. And Gaff had been radiating that pain since yesterday, though even minutes after the tragedy of Drezd'any Street he'd been struggling to hide the existence of his emotional distress.

She'd wondered if she should say something to him in the MTCC. She really should have tried talking to him yesterday, when the pain had been fresh and had not yet had time to settle in. But then she'd been tired and soul-weary and heartsick herself; never a good emotional basis for an empath to work off of. And the setting had just seemed wrong back at the MTCC. For one, Wren had been there and chances were that Gaff wouldn't have wanted any perceived weaknesses exposed in front of the sergeant. Or the rest of his men. Ro had the sneaking suspicion that Gaff was keeping all of his worries and sorrows to himself, mostly out of some misplaced belief that if he gave evidence of their existence, he'd somehow be letting his men down.

But it was painfully obvious to her that he needed a shoulder to lean on right now and maybe an ear to listen to him as well. Force knew that that was what she'd needed in times of strife and loss. And she couldn't imagine that a clone would be any different, even one who was a commander.

_Maybe especially a commander, _she thought, as she stepped around the bend.

"Gaff," she called softly.

Gaff stiffened and she could feel a burst of _surprise _and _consternation _from him before he turned around to face her, most of his professional mask back in place.

She had to give him credit; he was good at getting himself back under control. Far better than Wren, that was for sure. But he couldn't fool her.

"Yes, Ro?" he asked her politely. "Is there something you needed from me?"

"Actually," she said. "I thought you needed me."

Gaff started, then flushed a deep crimson. "Com-Ro, n-no, not at all. What the sergeant was implying...I mean, I would never presume…I-I mean I don't…I…"

"No, no," she said, hastily cutting him off before he could reveal anything that would embarrass them both. "I didn't mean it like that," she explained. "What I meant was…urgh," she exclaimed in frustration, slapping one palm to her forehead. Why did things never come out of her mouth the way she intended?

She looked about the corridor, spotted a door marked 'maintenance' and grabbed Gaff by the elbow, towing the startled trooper towards the closet. "Here," she said, jabbing at the control button. "Let's get some privacy."

Before Gaff had a chance to protest, Ro shoved him into the maintenance closet. Taken by surprise at her strength, Gaff stumbled into the closet, almost tripping over a bucket in the process. Ro followed him into the closet, closing the door behind her.

For a moment, everything was dark and Ro could feel the familiar sense of panic rising inside of her at the lack of light. Then the closet's motion detectors picked up on them and a yellow-white florescent glowrod flickered into life, illuminating the space around them.

It was probably the most organized and meticulous maintenance closet Ro had ever seen and she took a few seconds to take in the astounding view of cleaning supplies arranged on shelves according to height and in alphabetical order. Mops, brooms and brushes had been placed neatly on racks and hooks and a series of small maintenance droids lined one side of a wall. There wasn't a speck of dirt or dust in sight. Even the maintenance droids looked cleaner than they'd probably ever been, even when fresh out of the factory.

"You guys were pretty bored before this whole bomb business, weren't you?" she asked.

"Ro," Gaff said carefully, "I feel obligated to warn you that this is highly inappropriate."

"What?" she asked with a grin. "You and me having some alone time in a maintenance closet? How could that possibly be termed inappropriate?"

"Some could misconstrue…" he stopped, carefully studying her face for a moment and then sighed. "You're teasing me, aren't you?"

"Got it in one," she said, then sobered. "I thought I'd try loosening you up a little before we talked."

"Talked?" Gaff asked slowly, cautiously as if he were examining the word for any hidden traps. "May I ask about what?"

Ro bit her lip, trying to decide how best to come at this. Her empathy gave her a decided advantage when it came to talking with people, since she could instantly detect what line of inquiry made people nervous and uncomfortable and what topic made them relax, but that did not change the fact that she wasn't a trained minder. She couldn't just plunge into this headlong without a strategy in mind.

"Why don't you sit down?" she began and gave him an encouraging smile. "I'm getting a cramp in my neck, talking to all of you strapping tall menfolk."

Gaff looked about the cramped space of the maintenance closet, his lips twitching faintly before he upturned one of the buckets he'd nearly fallen over and settled himself on that. The bucket gave an ominous groan under Gaff's weight but held. Ro settled herself against the opposite wall, perched on the flat head of one of the offline maintenance droids.

She took a few moments to search his face carefully, testing the eddies of his feelings in the Force. There was a hard knot of _grief _inside of him, coupled with a steely resolve and endless _determination. _But beneath that, Ro could also feel the jagged and unmistakably blue feeling of _failure._

"Gaff, don't take this the wrong way, but did you sleep at all last night?"

Gaff frowned at her question, hastily looking at his gloved hands and examining them intensely, as if they might have betrayed him.

"Has my performance not been according to Code?" he asked slowly.

Ro scratched the back of her head, grimacing as her fingers encountered the mess that had been a neat knot of hair only this morning. Quickly pulling out the two Zenji needles, Ro shook out her hair, letting it drape around her small frame. Her Padawan braid, released from the confines of the knot, fell against her shoulder, the triangular charm woven into the braid's end giving a dull little thump as it struck her indigo shirt and the leather straps of the sheath for her shoulder knife beneath.

"Depends on what Code you mean," she told him, noticing how his eyes followed the fall of her long hair. "But there's no denying that you're tired, Gaff. I can see it in your eyes and I can feel it in you. So, did you sleep last night?"

He hesitated a moment, then wearily shook his head. "No," he said finally, then ran a hand along the side of his face. As if the admission had freed him of keeping up the charade, Ro could now see lines around his eyes and mouth that hadn't been there when she'd first met him.

Carefully she reached out and traced one of those lines. Beneath her fingers, Gaff froze.

"And that's not the first time, either," she said. "You haven't been sleeping properly for a while." She sighed and withdrew her hand. "I guess that's currently going around."

"You're not sleeping either?" he asked her, clearly surprised at her revelation. "But, you've done this before, haven't you? I mean, you have experience in these types of situations."

"That doesn't make it any easier," she told him, idly twirling one blue-blond strand of hair around a finger, then tugging at the strand in contemplation. "You never quite get used to it. The wanton, senseless destruction. The madness, the blood…"

"The death," he added quietly.

The smile she gave him was full of sympathy, understanding and a deep, aching sadness.

"And the death," she repeated. "Experience doesn't keep you from feeling hurt or confused or angry or like you're to blame. All it does is help you learn how to deal with it. And not sleeping isn't dealing."

Gaff nodded, but he'd returned to studying his hands, determinately avoiding her gaze. "I…I didn't sleep much yesterday," he admitted. "Or since the residential fire, but," he hesitated, wincing a little. "It's not just because of what happened. I've been busy with data analysis and trying to run interference between the planetary council, the police department and Shenio Mining."

Ro raised both of her eyebrows in surprise. "What does Shenio have to do with any of this?"

Gaff sighed, his shoulders slumping a little more forward. "The CEO, Madame Lucara, has been demanding an increase in her security since the bombings have begun and since yesterday…" he drifted off, running one hand through his crew cut. "As Kase told you, she wasn't too happy with my decision to bring the other half of F Company to Eyat. Since yesterday, she's been sending continuous comm calls to Coruscant and us. I've been trying to explain our situation to various senators and governmental departments." He gave her a brittle, exhausted smile. "I'm not even sure if most of those are related to the military."

Ro made a frustrated clicking sound with her tongue, something she'd picked up from her brother. That Lucara woman again. It figured that she'd be making a nuisance of herself. People like that were just entirely too used to getting their way.

Gaff apparently hadn't heard the sound or he was ignoring it, because he went on, his voice falling to a near whisper. "I've also been busy drawing up reports and….and filling out the request forms for replacements for Sergeant Fallout and his squad."

And he'd probably done it all by himself, Ro realized, with no one to share the burden with him.

Ro took another close look at his drawn and exhausted face, once more noticing the bloodshot eyes and the slight pallor in his otherwise tanned face and reached out to take one of Gaff's gloved hands with both of hers. Gently she squeezed the fingers, using the contact to send gentle waves of _reassurance _and _support _at him.

At any other time, she knew, Gaff would probably have blushed and gotten embarrassed over the close contact, but now he only stared at their clasped hands abstractedly, as if he wasn't really seeing either.

With the physical contact, Ro now got a full sense of how much the last month had been wearing him down. Not physically, – it would probably take months of abuse to wear down a body as healthy and strong as Gaff's – but mentally and emotionally.

It was clear to her now that Gaff had probably been putting himself at the forefront of every action his company had taken. He must have gone to every meeting he'd been ordered to by the civilian government, taken every tongue-lashing and recriminations, so as to spare his men the brunt of the criticism. By the depth of the fatigue he was radiating, Ro also guessed that he'd been putting in long nights, doing research, trying to catch up with a world and type of duty he'd simply not been prepared for.

Gaff was incredibly intelligent and both willing and able, but it was obvious that he'd been thrown into the deep end of a bottomless ocean with no life raft and he'd been struggling to keep afloat ever since. And now some of his people had died and there was no one he could turn to to explain things to him. Again.

Ro felt a flare of anger at the Republic and the GAR for putting Gaff and the rest of F Company into this situation in the first place. These men were _soldiers, _not diplomats or aid workers. Why hadn't anyone in the GAR thought to assign F Company a liaison, someone who could have helped Gaff navigate the gap between civilian life and government and military strictures?

As soon as the anger appeared, it was snuffed out again by harsh reality. Ro knew the answer, of course. The fact was, probably no one had thought that far ahead and even if they had, Republic resources were stretched thin. And who could have predicted a serial killer with a preference for bombs?

_Risk management, _Ro thought ruthlessly, determined not to let sympathy overwhelm her outrage at what was a legitimate case of gross oversight. _The Republic has entire companies that deal with nothing more than analyzing the potential risks and outcomes of certain scenarios. The military uses them; I know they do. They should have predicted that something would go wrong here._

"One of the things I did learn," she told him, "is that you can't manage on your own."

He looked up at her, uncertain.

"But I…"

"No buts," she interrupted gently. "We Humans aren't meant to be loners, Gaff." _No matter how hard some people might deny it, _she added silently, thinking of Wren. "Everyone needs someone, at least some of the time and that goes double for when things gets rough."

"But I'm the commander," he said agitatedly. "I'm the one everyone looks to for leadership."

"And no one is going to think less of you if you pour out your troubles to a friend every now and then. Gaff, no one should carry this kind of burden alone, rank or no. You're not letting anyone down by taking care of yourself. Actually," she added in a more severe tone, "what you're doing now is far worse. You're tired and tired brains don't think well. Your people need you in top-form not exhausted from fighting off the likes of Lucara or some snotty overpaid bureaucrat."

He smiled a little at her vehemence, but it didn't last long. With a sigh, he shook his head in denial at her suggestion.

"I can't ask my men to take on that kind of responsibility. They have enough on their minds as it is, particularly now."

"For Force's sake!" Ro exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation at this much martyrdom. She was starting to think that Geith had been right and clones really had been genetically engineered to be ridiculously self-sacrificing.

"Gaff," she said, taking his startled face in-between both of her hands to lend her words extra emphasis. "Your men care about you and if you can't see that, then you're blinder than a Miraluka without the Force. They'd happily help you out if only you'd tell them how." She let go of his face and began ticking off names on her fingers. "Teller can no doubt handle most of the rudimentary comm traffic, Wess is even better at pacifying people than you are and if you'd sic Kase on some of those politicians, he'd no doubt tell them exactly what rules they're breaking with their interference down to the last paragraph." She stopped and took a deep breath before continuing. "Gaff, you don't have to oversee everything. You're men are smart, adaptable and fast learners; even I can see that. All you have to do is give them some free reign."

He looked away from her, towards the wall of carefully sorted cleaning supplies, but Ro could tell it was not a gesture of rejection. He was thinking her words over in that carefully meticulous manner of his.

"It's not how we learned how to do things on Kamino," he finally said.

"You're not on Kamino anymore," she reminded him.

"No," he said slowly and met her eyes evenly. "I'm not." He gave another sigh and a rueful smile. "I guess I've been refusing to see that, because…well, because I understood how things worked on Kamino. I'm not so sure about Gaftikar, or the rest of the galaxy. Everything is just so..." he paused, searching for the right word. "Disorganized. Overwhelming."

Ro felt an ironic little smile come to her lips at those words. "Don't worry about it. The rest of the galaxy feels the same way."

"Do you?" he asked her quietly.

"All the time. There's a lot going on that I don't understand, including this war. But that's what life is all about; bungling your way through it the best you can. That's why you need friends, Gaff. So that when you stumble, someone's there to help you get back on your feet." Her smile widened into a grin that was full of impishness. "Or at least, so that when you fall, you'll have someone to land on to cushion the blow."

That wrung an answering smile from Gaff. "The buddy system is essential to your survival," he said. "It gives the enemy somebody else to shoot at."

Ro burst out into gales of laughter. "Oh tha-that's really good," she giggled. "Where'd you get that from?"

Gaff shrugged diffidently, but he was now radiating a healthy mixture of _pleased pride, mirth _and a relaxed sort of _happy contentment. _"Old army joke," he told her.

"I like it," she said honestly, still grinning from ear to ear. She poked him in the armor covering his left shoulder. "Always stick with the lessons you learned in the cradle. They tend to be the only one's you really need in life."

"That sounds very profound," he said.

"I thought so, too," she replied proudly. "Best box of cereal I ever bought. Now," and she poked him again, "have I gotten through your helmet or do I need to get a stick and play a round of whack the womp rat?"

"Message received," he told her, trying to keep a straight face. "I will…try to delegate some of my duties to my men."

"And talk to someone," she added, waggling a finger at his face for emphasis. "I won't be around to drag you into closets for ever, you know."

Some of the merriment left his face at her words, but he still nodded his acquiescence. "I will try…Ro."

"Good," she said clapping her hands together. "And Gaff?"

He was already getting ready to leave, half-rising from his seat on the bucket. "Yes?"

"It's not your fault."

Confusion flickered across his face as he tried to figure out what she meant. "I don't…"

"What happened at Drezd'any Street," she clarified softly. "What happened to your men; none of that was your fault." She looked up at him from where she was still perched on top of the maintenance droid. "I can't say that I know exactly how you feel, Gaff," she told him. "I mean, I can _feel _what you're feeling, but I never had to go through what you're going through right now. But I've been in similar situations and I've blamed myself for the deaths of people I couldn't save and Gaff, you can't do that. Not forever, anyways." The smile she gave him was sad and full of the memories of past failures. There had been many, too many for her liking. "It eats at you," she said, so softly she wasn't sure if she was still talking to him or to herself. She was no longer looking at Gaff, but staring at the neat rows of cleaning fluids. One hand was fiddling with her holo-locket, the reliquary in which she kept the memories of all those she loved. And all those whom she'd failed to protect.

"You feel it's all your fault," she went on, her eyes glued to the wall. "And you think that, if only you'd been faster or stronger or more clever, then you could have saved them. But it's not like that, Gaff." And her eyes turned back to meet his; brown and teal filled with shared sorrow and regrets. "It's not your fault," she repeated. "It's the fault of the person who did the killing and in this case, also the fault of whoever called this rabid rat to Gaftikar. Not yours."

The last words hung in the air of the small closet, an almost tangible presence between the two.

Gaff wasn't looking at her, but at the tips of his armored boots. One hand rested on the butt of his blaster, the fingers tightening and relaxing convulsively as he worked to sort through his fluctuating emotions. Ro could feel his struggle, but did not attempt to soothe it away, as she normally might have. She knew from experience that this was a hurdle Gaff would have to overcome by himself. If he could accept the death of his troopers without either losing his sense of responsibility towards his men or his sense of self to his guilt, then he would be fine. More than that, Ro knew it would make him an even better leader.

A good leader, she'd found, was someone who cared about his people enough to feel the loss, but who was also dedicated enough to the whole so as not to be towed under by the loss of the one. It was a difficult balancing act and one she knew she would never manage; not for long anyway. Eda had always told her that she was too softhearted and Ro knew it. She would run the danger of breaking beneath the burdens of leadership, but Ro thought Gaff had it in him to become one of those rare leaders who cared for his men and who was strong enough to pay the price of commanding. If he could get over this first devastating loss.

The struggle didn't last long, but it was a difficult one. Ro could feel contrasting shades of _guilt, shame, inadequacy _and _doubt _battling with _confusion, pain, frustration _and a desperate need to understand and find peace again. Throughout those brief but intense seconds, Gaff's face remained blank and deceptively calm. Other than the continuous clenching and unclenching of his hand around the butt of his blaster, he might as well have been in deep meditation.

She had to wonder where he'd learned that; to keep his face and body devoid of his inner thoughts and feelings. A useful trick, though Ro didn't think it was a particularly healthy habit.

And then, just like that, the fight was over. With a deep exhale, Gaff's entire body relaxed and Ro felt a _weary, resigned acceptance _settle over him. The grief and pain was still there, but they were no longer dominant and oppressive and Ro felt a knot inside of herself relax as well.

"It's not my fault," Gaff repeatedly quietly, as if the words were a talisman. Then, gently he corrected himself. "_This time, _it's not my fault." He opened his eyes and met hers, the smile he gave her restrained and humorless. "Because there will come a time when I make a mistake and that will result in my people dying."

She felt the urge to cry at those words. The simple, horrible truth of them was undeniable. Everyone made mistakes, young or old, experienced or not and he was in a position of power. His mistakes would have far-reaching consequences and there was no way to avoid it. Sooner or later….

"No need to think of that, yet," she said resolutely, but he was already shaking his head.

"No," he told her. "No, I need to think about it, because I need to be prepared for when the time comes."

She found a smile come to her lips at his insistence. "You and Wren," she said with silent laughter in her voice. "You're such Ranger Scouts. Always prepared."

The mention of Wren brought another change over Gaff. Some of the dawning humor fled his face and there was a thoughtful, slightly apprehensive look in his eyes. Ro could feel that he was coming to another decision and she thought she might know what it was.

With a sinking feeling in her gut she felt her suspicious confirmed when he took a step closer to her, his expression sincere and earnest and just a little pleading. "Ro," he began and she jumped up from her seat on the maintenance droid in alarm.

"Gaff," she said, almost in the same instance.

The sound of his comlink beeping saved them both and Ro only just managed to suppress a sigh of relief.

With a slight frown, Gaff raised his right wrist to his lips, activating an open channel in the process.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Commander." It was Captain Kase's voice.

Ro couldn't quite believe her luck. Saved by Mr. High-And-Tight. Who would have thought it possible?

"The men and gear are all accounted for and assembled. We are awaiting your arrival." There was the barest hint of a question in Kase's voice, as if he wanted to ask why his normally punctual commander wasn't at the garage yet, but couldn't bring himself to display such an unseemly amount of curiosity.

Gaff threw Ro a hasty look of unconcealed regret, even as he answered his second evenly. "I'll be there in a moment, Captain. Padawan Arhen and I still had a few…mission details to discuss."

Ro didn't miss that bare instant of a pause in Gaff's words and apparently, neither had Kase. There was a brief lull from the other end of the line, then the captain said, "Understood, sir."

Ro wondered if Kase really did understand. It was hard to tell. The man was even more emotionally clammed up than Wren and Ro had no way of telling just how empathetic Kase was. Maybe he did understand some of the pain his commander was going through. Ro certainly hoped so. She might not understand much about the GAR, but she did know that as second-in-command, Kase was the logical choice for Gaff to turn to as a confidant. She could only hope that the stoic and pedantic captain could rise to the occasion.

Gaff looked up from his comlink, hesitated briefly, then said, "You…wanted to say something." It seemed he'd lost the determination to confess whatever misguided feelings he might have for her and for that she was grateful. But Ro also found that Kase's timely interruption had robbed her of the nerve to explain to Gaff the folly of any deeper feelings he might be harboring for her.

_Coward, _she thought, even as she shook her head. Her hair brushed lightly against her face and Ro reminded herself to tie it back again later. "It'll keep," she said and forced herself to look into his face as she said the words. It wasn't a complete lie, but it was a lily-livered excuse for sure.

He nodded his acceptance of her words, the thumb of his right hand now caressing the top of the helmet clipped to his belt, instead of his blaster. "Then I'd best go," he said, though he didn't move from his spot at the door.

Ro bit her lip, realizing that she needed to be the one to break up this moment. "Yeah," she said. "I'd best be going, too. Wren'll start to wonder if I've fallen down a sarlacc pit." She tried to joke, but it was a rather weak effort and the answering look he gave her was anything but amused.

"Yes," was all he said and there was a world of meaning in that cut and dry remark.

* * *

_Military Tactical Command Center, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Wren looked up as the door to the MTCC swooshed open. It was Ro and she was looking decidedly distracted. With a cynical eye he took in her now unbound blue and blond hair, the paleness of which was emphasized by the MTCC's harsh lighting. Her eyes were also unfocused and she kept glancing back over her shoulder, as if she had forgotten something of importance.

"Had a nice time?" he asked snidely.

Ro glanced at him, then back at the now closed door and Wren felt a flash of irritation shoot through him that he dismissed almost immediately. What did it matter that she'd run after Gaff and had now been gone for almost seven minutes straight? Wren knew the rookie commander and knew that even if Ro had thrown herself at him, Gaff would have hardly grabbed the opportunity with both hands. The shiny simply didn't know how to behave around women. And since Wren didn't have any interest in Ro, - at least not in _that _way – he admitted privately to himself, he couldn't care less if they'd done it on the mess hall tables. What he did care about was being ignored and having to postpone the first real bit of excitement and fulfillment he'd had since being banned from ARC life on Kamino.

"We had ourselves a good conversation," Ro admitted breezily, but she wouldn't meet his eyes, instead staring down at the holomap of Eyat and the secret tunnel system.

Wren felt his sardonic side stir at her comment and with an ironic twist of his lips he said, "Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days? A conversation?"

Ro looked up at him, clearly startled out of her thoughts by his words. She blinked several times, uncomprehending of his meaning. The sight of her confusion only egged him on even further. The ironic smile widened to a lecherous smirk, helped along by the scar at the right corner of his mouth.

"Did he at least let you finish a sentence of your own?" he purred down at her. "Inexperienced as he is, I can imagine he just rushed through the entire _conversation,_" and he was careful to put particular emphasis on the word, "without you ever getting in a word edgewise. Such a one-sided _conversation _must leave you quite frustrated and dissatisfied."

She blinked, blinked again, then said, "I'm sorry, I could swear you just said something perverted, but for the life of me I can't tell what."

He laughed at that; laughed at her words and the look of sheer puzzlement on her face. Fek, it felt good to laugh an honest, full-hearted laugh and not the usual derisive laughter that had marked most of his life. Even as he enjoyed the sensation he wondered when he'd laughed like that the last time. It must have been years.

She put her hands on her hips, regarding him with a critical eye, then shook her head, as if in exasperation. "So happy you are amused," she said dryly. Then, quick as a flash, her hand reached out and she tweaked his nose.

"What the kriff was that for?" he asked, swatting at her hand, feeling a little irritated, but still mostly easy and relaxed.

"Didn't I just finish telling you that my sex life was none of your business?" she asked him.

He made his eyes go wide in feigned astonishment, like he'd seen actors do on some of the holovids. "Jedi have a sex life?"

"Oh for…" she shook her head, which made her long hair sway about her like a curtain in the breeze. "Never mind. I am not having this conversation with you."

"That's good," he drawled, his usual caustic manner reasserting itself quickly as his eyes landed once more on the holomap. "Because for a moment I thought you'd forgotten that we had a thermal hired serial killer on our hands in favor of the rookie commander."

"There's nothing between me and Gaff but friendship and there never will be," she said in a tone of such finality that it startled him. He studied her a bit more closely for a moment and saw on her face an expression that vaguely reminded him of his brother Asher.

Asher had been a horrid shot to the point where Wren had honestly thought that the Kaminoans must have tweaked a gene or two incorrectly in his brother. Out of ten targets, Asher had been able to hit only eight by the time he was three and at a lousy time-count as well. For an ARC cadet, those kinds of results were catastrophic and Asher had known it. And every time he'd watched Wren score one perfect hit after another with an ease that went beyond mere practice, his brother's face had revealed a curious mixture of melancholy, envy and bewilderment, as if he couldn't quite grasp why he was so deficient in this one vital area.

The look on Ro's face right at this moment mirrored that of Asher from so many years ago perfectly and just like back then, Wren couldn't quite understand its cause. Why should she look like that? What did her words mean? And why under all the suns did it matter to him?

_It doesn't, _he concluded. Aloud, he said, "Wonderful. Does that mean we can finally get back to the effing business at hand."

She shot him a wry look from beneath her long, messy bangs. "You know, that's supposed to be a question, but it sure sounded like an order." Then she sighed and ran a hand through her hair, making the electric blue zigzag lines ripple slightly. "You're right, we need to get back on course. What's this?" she asked and waved a hand at the holomap, which was now punctuated by thirteen green dots.

"While you were having your _conversation,_" he said, studiously ignoring the glare she shot him, "I located the main entrance points for all the tunnels directly at the bombing sites." He pointed towards the green dots, scattered throughout the holographic map. "As you can see, there are at least two points at each site that leads to a tunnel."

She leaned forward slightly to study the map more closely, absentmindedly blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "I see," she finally said. "But why bother?"

"Geographic profiling," he told her smugly. "There's no such thing as pure randomness, not when it comes to wets. You said this barve is organized enough to have a plan, so that means he carefully plans out the routes he takes from wherever the fek he's holed up, through the tunnels, towards his target. By identifying all possible entrance points, we can find the tunnels he probably took." At this point, Wren caught Sighter's eye and nodded towards the clone technician.

With a few swift taps of his fingers, Sighter entered the coordinates Wren had given him only a few minutes ago. The holomap flickered slightly as the projector accepted the new data and thirteen tunnels changed from orange to green.

Ro made a clicking sound with her tongue as she studied the ensuing pattern. "Not many tunnels lead directly to our bomb sites," she said. "But that doesn't tell us much. Technically our killer could have used any number of tunnels and walked the rest of the way."

"With a bomb hidden under his coat?" Wren asked sarcastically. "The bomb boys might not have found enough to replicate the device, but I don't need a fekking replica to tell me that a bomb needs to be at least as big as a kriffing backpack to do the damage we saw. And I agree with you. Even if this barve disguised the bomb, he couldn't have wandered around Eyat without someone noticing. Owen's story proves that."

She was staring at him, a little wide-eyed and he glared at her suspiciously. "What?"

A wide grin broke out on her face. "Cookie, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Wren raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, but ignored the nonsensical comment. "There's another problem," he continued and traced the path of one green-lit tunnel with a finger, causing the pixels of the holo to distort slightly around the appendage. "We got point of access and egress, but all of the tunnels intersect at least once somewhere else. None of them lead to only a single location, so we can't even determine the kriffing direction he came from." Wren gave a humorless snort of laughter. "Guess the militia knew what it was doing after all."

"They would," Ro murmured. "They're miners, mostly. Tunnels is what they know best."

Her eyes tracked over the holo, continuously flickering from one green line to the next.

"There's something here," she murmured quietly to herself and began to fiddle with her necklace.

Wren bit his tongue against any sarcastic rejoinder, letting her think. Ro's thought process might be even more erratic than an unstable hyperlane, but it always seemed to bring her to some kind of useful conclusion. So far, anyway.

"Do all of the tunnels lead out of the city?" she asked finally.

Wren gave her a scathing look for the question, since she could very well see from the holo that no, not all of them did, but again, he held himself back. His body was humming slightly from the thrill of finally putting the skills he'd learned in ARC training to use and the anticipation of a good hunt. As much fun as it was to rile Ro, he wanted to keep on track with this.

"No," he bit out. "All the tunnels connected to the bomb sites end within the city walls, as do a good third of the others. But the rest all lead away from Eyat, either to the outlying towns or to the mine."

"The mine," she muttered, eyes still moving restlessly over the holo. "The mine and the outlying townships. And why?" she asked, but answered the question before he could open his mouth. With a start, Wren realized she was talking to herself now.

"It's war, that's why. The Humans are fighting a siege war against the Marits. They're cut off and need supplies, so they use the mining droids to build the tunnels. Get around the city without worrying about observers or incoming shells, sure, but also create invisible streets to get where the food is. 'Kay, makes sense. But what doesn't make sense? What sticks out?"

Her head suddenly snapped up and she slapped a palm to her forehead, the sound making the three techs jump in surprise. "Of course. The thing that sticks out is the thing that's not there."

"You lost me," Wren told her.

"What isn't there," she repeated, then pointed at the map. "Look at it, cookie. You discovered a pattern. All the entrance points closest to the bomb sites, that's what you said, but there's an anomaly. The pattern falls short."

He looked down at the holomap again, his eyes once more tracing the paths of the highlighted tunnels, trying to see what she was seeing. A pattern? Well, yes, you could see it that way, though for him it was simply the most strategically sound solution. Alright then, so what wasn't sound in this strategy?

He hit on it almost as soon as he asked himself the question. "The Shenio Mining hangar," he said.

"That's right," Ro said excitedly and jabbed at the site with her hand, disturbing the pixels and causing the image to blur. "The Shenio Mining hangar, the site of the third bombing, was located outside of the city walls. But there's no tunnel leading towards it."

"Because the hangar was built after the siege," Wren explained. "There was no place for it inside of Eyat, just like there was no room for the garrison. That's why both were built outside of the city walls." He quickly located the base on the holomap and pointed it out to Ro. "No tunnels leading to the base either. There was no need for it. The hangar stands on unoccupied land. In that direction, there's nothing but forest. The next town is over a thousand klicks away and digging a tunnel that long is asking for trouble." He traced an invisible line from Eyat to the garrison. "This way was the Marit camp. The Humans never knew its exact location, but they knew the general direction. The Marits are reptiles and can pick up vibrations through the stanging air and ground. No frakking way would they have missed a tunnel being dug right under their karking tails. So no tunnels this way either."

"Exactly," Ro said. "That's the whole pattern right there. The tunnels weren't just built as a means of travel, but also for security. They were meant to be safe and that's why our serial killer rat has been using them. They're safe; safer than walking the streets. But there are no tunnels around the Shenio Mining hangar. Getting there, targeting that hangar, it wasn't safe. Look," and she pointed at a location almost a full klick away from the hangar and inside Eyat's walls. "That's where the nearest tunnel to the hangar ends. That means in order to target the Shenio hangar, he needed to travel quite a ways and in open air. Why? Why would he do that when there were plenty of other targets for him to choose? Targets he could access a lot easier?" She looked him squarely in the face, her eyes bright with a light he'd never seen before. Not mischievous or laughing, but almost feverish. It was the kind of light that might come into the eyes of a hunting strill when it scented prey. "Wren," she asked, "who profits from all of this? Remember, one of the first things I wanted to know was who was being hurt the most by these attacks, but that wasn't the right question. I should have been asking myself, who gains the most? What's the payoff for hiring a serial killer and letting him spread fear and terror among the populace while simultaneously embarrassing the civilian government?"

It was so obvious, once you thought about it in the right light, once you asked the right questions. "Shenio," he said simply. "Shenio Mining is the only one who gains from any of this. They're the ones who wanted Gaftikar in the Republic in the first place, so that they could get at the kelerium and norax deposits. They've been mining every vein that wasn't already claimed by the locals like frantic nunas. Lucara has been doing her damnedest to complain every day to Palpatine himself and if marshal law is declared…"

"Then they are the closest Republic representatives capable of taking on the daunting task of managing an entire planet," Ro finished for him. "Sure, why not? It's not the first time a corporation has been named Planetary Administrator. And when you're planning a hostile takeover, what's the first thing you do?"

"I don't know about hostile takeovers," he said and inclined his head thoughtfully to the side. "But if I were trying to overthrow a government and make it look legit, I'd be bringing in a third party as the scapegoat and making sure the side I want to win looks innocent. Better yet, make it look like a victim, to win favor with the civvies."

"And that's exactly what Shenio's been doing," Ro said, tightlipped as she stared down at the holomap. "They hired themselves a killer, told him to spread a lot of fear and to bomb one of their facilities as well to throw off suspicions." She thumped the edge of the projector angrily, her small, balled first making a hollow clunking sound against the metal. "Those wamp rats," she hissed. "It's a hostile takeover, alright. Emphasis on the hostile."

"And they brought in a professional to do the job. Nice and neat," Wren said with just a tinge of admiration to his words. He'd always thought that Lucara harpy was astoundingly arrogant, but he had to hand it to her, the plan was bold and well executed. It might even work, depending on how the Senate decided.

"But they made one mistake," Ro said and Wren saw that her face had become pinched, not with anger, but with a sick sort of worry and foreknowledge. "The professional they bought themselves is as unstable as an Eol Sha volcano and he's heading towards a major blow-up."

She looked up at him, met his eyes and said gravely, "Cookie, we need to find this rat before the entire city explodes."

* * *

He worked diligently, relentlessly, driven by an intense need to complete his task. It wasn't just the hunger that drove him, nor the voice of The Rational. No, there was something else now.

It was an animal's instinctive understanding that time was running out.

He'd been a predator for a very long time. He'd had to be, to survive for as long as he had and in that time, his instincts had been sharpened along with his hunger. He would never be able to explain it, even to himself, but he knew that the Jedi was closing in. She too was a predator of sorts and when two such creatures came to be within the same territory, one became hyper aware of the other. She'd been stalking his steps, always just a short distance behind him. Not enough to catch him, but enough to witness the power of his presents and spoil some of their splendor. At first, at least.

But then, she'd nearly caught him earlier that day and with that experience had come the realization that things were drawing to a close. She was getting too near for his liking and he had to be the first to end it, because only then would he be the one to survive the encounter. He needed to kill the Jedi, to make sure that no trace of her remained.

But he was not sure where her kill nest was, though she surely had one. All predators did. But she had to be in the sheep's big pen, or else she would never have been able to get so close to him. So he needed to make sure that he cleansed as big an area as possible to get her. The entire pen, in fact.

His fingers kept moving, though at times, he wandered the dark roads within his mind as he revisited past kills and fantasized about the cleansing to come. At those times, The Rational took over and he was no longer aware of the outside world. But he didn't care, because he did not need the outside. In the outside, there was darkness and sheep and the fire. He could find the same inside of the confines of his mind and memories. And it was both so very sweet.


	27. Chapter 26: A Shake of the Dice

**A Shake of the Dice **

"_People aren't either wicked or noble. They're like chef's salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict." _

_- Lemony Snicket, _The Grim Grotto

* * *

_Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

It was a sad fact of life that nothing could ever be undone. Words spoken in anger or carelessness could not be taken back. Actions motivated out of fear or distrust could not be reversed. Whether an intension was good or bad, one had to live with the consequences…

Tessa had been shocked by what she'd overheard in Cebz office. She'd been even more frightened by her own conclusions. The possibility of being denied democratic rule by a government on distant and far-removed Coruscant had in turn awakened old prejudices she'd absorbed over the years, though hardly been aware of.

The Jedi believed that fear led to anger. Anger led to hate and hate in turn led to suffering. The Jedi were not so wrong.

Tessa suffered under the burden of her anxieties and in her moment of distress felt the natural inclination to confide in another Human being. In the perceived safety of her cousin's kitchen, Tessa had proceeded to voice all the threats and dangers their planet was facing; the real ones and those she perceived to be real, unaware that someone less sensible and down-to-earth than her cousin was listening.

Words have a curious power. On the one hand, they might inspire masses to rise up in glorious defense, or descend into mad violence. On the other, they are powerless without a person's ability to interpret. And it is this interpretation that might tip the scales in events, to one side or the other.

Unlike his great-aunt Tessa, Wilky had almost no real-life experience with politics. He was only seventeen standard years old and even before the siege wars, had been more interested in spending time with his friends rather than concentrating on his education. As a consequence he had no grasp of the larger political games played within the Senate. Indeed, his understanding of what the Galactic Senate _was_, was severely limited.

But like most teenagers, he thought he had a sure understanding of the galaxy. Wilky believed his interpretations to be correct and though he'd gotten his information second-hand and heard fairly little of what his great-aunt had said to boot, it didn't matter.

Wilky believed he'd overheard the plans for an upcoming invasion and as usual, the adults were paralyzed in fear, with no hint of what to do when the creds were down on the table.

Well, Wilky did and he spread the information across the social network that exists between young people of all planets and species.

The original message raced through the city, spreading like wildfire, ricocheting from one comlink to the next. And during its travels, the core of the message kept altering, transformed every time a new pair of eyes read the lines.

Interpretation: that is what it came down to.

Wilky wanted a mobilization, but under 'mobilization' the teenager understood meeting his friends at their favorite corner and maybe filching a few bottles of fozbeer and bitching about the Lizard Queen and her hordes of walking suitcases.

Some of his friends held the same expectations, but others did not.

These were children of war. All of them had actively lived through almost five years of a vicious siege and had survived the Battle of Gaftikar when some of their elders had not. There were some amongst Wilky's friends whose parents had been active members in the militia and later the GFH. "Mobilize" had an entirely different meaning to them than to the rather mild-mannered and admittedly uncomprehending Wilky. Wilky and his ilk were posers, who wore the reptile-skin clothing because their friends did. They were not fighters. But there were those youths who spent their days lounging on Eyat's street corners who were. Youths who knew how to carry a blaster, how to use a knife and more importantly, how to hate.

Children who'd grown up in a time that was war in all but name. And they at least believed they knew who the enemy was and what he would do and how they needed to answer him.

Wilky's message of an invasion turned into a prophecy of violence, a certainty that the Republic was already on its way with another fleet, guns bristling to turn their planet into slag.

For Tessa, the news that her homeworld had come under debate by the Senate and was considered for the implementation of martial law had been justifiable cause for high-level anxiety and outrage.

For Wilky, the idea of a second Republic invasion on Gaftikar and life under the thumb of cloned spam-in-a-can, had been enough of an excuse to meet up with his friends, get drunk and go on a small spree of vandalism.

For the GFH, the Republic's planned attempt to begin the Second Battle of Gaftikar created mixed feelings of anger, hatred and euphoria. This was the chance to once more fight for their planet, oust the lizards once and for all and retake what was by right theirs. All they had to do was take over control of the capitol before the Republic ships could arrive.

But a counterstrike of such scale would require weapons and the clones had been diligent in their effort to demilitarize the local population. The only armament the GFH had was what they'd been able to hide or cobble together by themselves.

They needed weapons for the assault and they needed their leader, to focus and guide their rage.

Luckily, the GFH knew where they would be able to find both.

* * *

_The plaza outside of the Assembly House, the government block_, _Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Gaff jumped out of the armored speeder and began issuing orders before his boots hit the ground. His men spread out around him, each breaking off into their squads, heading double-time to their assigned posts. Each man carried a backpack full of teargas grenades.

Behind the convoy of armored vehicles came the squat police speeders. As squads of troopers peeled off from the main force, two red-clad police officers would accompany them. The plan was to have the cops handle any civilians who got too curious, while the troopers took care of the tunnels.

Gaff had decided to do a little more than simply flood the tunnels with teargas. Wren had been right with his snarky comment about breather masks. This was a mining town and most of the former mine workers had their own personal rebreathers, not to mention the emergency breather masks stored at the Eyat police and fire department. It would be too easy to simply steal a mask from those supplies and slip through the gas filled tunnels.

To head off such a possibility, Gaff ordered his squads to collapse or block all possible entrances, so long as the action would not endanger locals. Some of those tunnel entrances were inside the cellars of inhabited buildings, and even a small detonation with det tape might cause some serious damage. Gaff would have to rely on the judgment of each of his men to make the call and felt a twinge of anxiety about it. He was the commander; he should be making all of the final decisions.

But Ro had been right; he needed to learn to share some of his responsibilities, to let himself be helped. His men were good, well trained and had graduated top of their class. Each and every one of them was more than qualified to judge whether or not a controlled detonation was in order.

To make sure he did not renege on his own orders, Gaff bit his tongue lightly as he watched his men go. Following their progress through his HUD Gaff felt some of the tension and anxiety of the past weeks ease from him, to be replaced by contentment. He was back in his element for the first time since leaving Kamino; overseeing a large operation, giving orders without hesitation or second-guessing. This was what he had been trained for, where his talents were best put to use: to come up with a plausible strategy and see to its successful execution.

Gaff walked around the armored speeders, continuously looking left and right, keeping an eye on everything via his HUD. Around him in a mass of moving white plastoid and red tunics, his men and EPD were handing out supplies of teargas and getting organized into groups in a controlled chaos.

He could have remained at the base for this op, supervising the entire maneuver via the well-equipped MTCC. Organizing and directing troops didn't actually require his physical presence. All he needed was a live feed and a 3-D holo map. But he'd needed to get away form the base, at least for a little while.

He'd been cooped up in the MTCC since last night, when the impromptu mourning assembly for his ten dead troopers had broken up, his thoughts running about in useless circles. Though he'd prowled and worked himself to exhaustion, Gaff knew that he'd accomplished nothing productive that night. And he hated that. He wanted to be useful, to set to rights what had been broken, but he'd had no incline of how to do that, so he'd lost himself in make-belief work, filling out flimsies that would normally be taken care of by the automated systems.

The chance of having an actual assignment had been like a clarion call to his overworked mind and he'd thrown himself into the task with a fervor that far exceeded the needs of the assignment. This was not a complicated op, nor particularly taxing for his men, but his mind had tackled the logistics with the same energy he'd once given to the training exercises on Kamino.

To actually do something useful, something that would get him away from the base and all its accumulated sorrow had been such a strong impulse that he'd grabbed it with both hands. Back in the MTCC, while discussing their new insights with Ro and Sergeant Wren, it had never even entered Gaff's mind to let Kase handle the tunnels by himself. It was take charge himself or risk going crazy with his own ineptitude.

Only now, standing in the plaza, where only three days ago he'd faced down a riot, did it occur to Gaff that this was probably exactly what Wren had been hoping for. No doubt the sergeant had wanted to get Gaff out into the field and out of his hair so as to once more operate without any supervision.

The realization made him pause mid-step next to a squad in the process of gearing up. The troopers paused in the act of loading their backpacks with teargas grenades, their blank helmets swiveling to look at him, their bodies tensed in expectation of orders from their commander. Gaff didn't even see them; he was too busy fuming.

_Stupid, _he thought to himself. _Blind, thoughtless, ignorant…._

How could he have missed that? It was such an obvious trick.

Yes, he'd basically ordered Wren to remain with Ro and yes, the remaining clones back at the base were technically under the command of Wess as long as Gaff and Kase were out in the field, but….

But Wess would never be able to stand against the more forceful Wren. If the sergeant got an idea into his head, then it was within his power to simply overrule Wess and do as he pleased without thought to anyone else. And Ro…Ro was…She was simply incredible and a Jedi, but Gaff knew with a painful twinge in his chest that she would support Wren to some extent.

He'd left the two alone, despite his better judgment, simply because he'd wanted something _so badly…._

"Commander!" The call and the sound of armored boots crunching against duracrete, wrenched Gaff out of his thoughts and made him turn around.

Kase, straight-backed and head high, was coming towards him; his strides so precise, Gaff knew he could have taken a ruler to them and found them no more than a breath away from regulation perfection. Good old Kase, as dependable and steady as the heart of a mountain.

"Commander," his second-in-command said again in greeting, accompanied by the usual, stiff salute.

Gaff swallowed and forcefully pushed aside his newfound trepidations. It was too late to do anything about it anyway. Wren was out there without any kind of supervision and he would just have to live with the consequences for now. At this moment, he needed to concentrate on the task he'd wanted desperately enough that his maverick sergeant had duped him.

He kept his movements relaxed and controlled as he gave his captain a respectful nod. "Status report, Captain Kase?" he asked and was mildly pleased that his voice came out clipped and professional.

Kase activated the holographic imager set into his palm. A blue holo of Eyat flared into life, with the entrance and exit points for the hidden tunnel systems marked in red. It was the same holomap Gaff had worked over only minutes before in the MTCC with Ro.

"Teams one through twelve are in position. Teams thirteen through sixteen, ETA eight minutes. Teams seventeen through twenty, ETA twelve and a half minutes. All squads report full cooperation from the Eyat police." Kase tilted his helmeted head at his commanding officer, only the barest hint of reprove in his voice. "The holographic maps at the MTCC would give a clearer picture of the situation, sir."

"I know, Captain," Gaff said calmly. "But it's time that F Company becomes more proactive." _And that includes me, _he added silently. "We've been playing by the rules of the civilians, but the fact is, we're _not _civilians. From here on out, we do this according to GAR regulations."

The words felt good against his tongue and despite his anger at himself, Gaff felt himself settle at their sound, as if, until that moment, he'd been walking in half-grav.

There was no way to read the expression on Kase's face behind that blank visor, but over the comm channel, Gaff could hear just the barest exhale of a breath, that might have been a sigh of relief and Kase's stiff posture relaxed just a fraction of an inch along the shoulders. His captain was obviously as pleased by the words as Gaff was.

Kase loved rules and was happiest when he was following his orders to the letter. But behaving according to civilian laws, while most of the civilians were breaking those same laws left and right had been a struggle for the pedantic captain. All clones obeyed GAR regulations universally and they were as familiar to the troopers as their own bodies. Gaff had known his captain would be pleased to return once more to solid ground. This was the familiar after two months of dealing with a world as alien to them as Tatooine would be to an aiwha.

Gaff forced himself back on track and strode along the convoy of vehicles, Kase to his right and one step behind, as the commander watched the unloading of the supplies they had brought.

Gaff had decided back at the base that he would remain with the team tasked to search out the tunnels in and around the government block. The revelation that such tunnels even existed in such a vital location of the city had given him the crawls. Kripes, there was even one tunnel that led directly beneath the Assembly House. No wonder Kezner and the GFH had been able to circumnavigate his security perimeters on the day of Cebz's speech. The GFH could travel through the entire city via the tunnels.

And so had the bomber. _Serial killer, _Gaff corrected himself. Ro had said this person was a serial killer and though he was uncertain as to what difference that made to their mission, Gaff trusted Ro's assessment. She was the authority in this, the one with the experience. And experience outweighed everything, even doubt. If Ro said it was important to think of this bomber as a serial killer, then it was.

"Commander." It was Kase's voice, the captain sounding utterly matter of fact as he said, "It seems we are being observed, nine o'clock."

Gaff turned his head towards the left and indeed, there were a series of sentients, Marits and Humans, standing on the Assembly House steps, watching the troopers. In the slowly gathering crowd, Gaff could see almost half of the planetary ruling council.

This was why he had opted to supervise the decommissioning of the government block tunnels.

Kase would have had the rank to deal with the civilian council and he was an intelligent and capable officer, but his weakness had always been interpersonal interactions. Without someone to issue him clear orders, Kase sometimes got bogged down in procedures and with those who violated regulations he tended to deal with harshly. In short, Kase had little to no diplomatic skills outside of what the regs told him to do. Gaff might have not have been very successful in getting the civilian government to see reason, but he was still the closest thing F Company had to a negotiator and diplomat. At least so far, he'd been available to avoid bloodshed among the politicians.

Gaff halted and turned towards Kase. "Finish up here," the commander said. "I want sitreps every twenty minutes. Inform the squads that, if a civilian questions them, they are to say that they are dealing with an immediate security risk and then to redirect them to the accompanying police officers. Should someone attempt to interfere with our work here," Gaff took a breath, "all squads have permission to neutralize the threat and detain the aggressor. No live ammunition," Gaff stressed. "No lethal force and no unnecessary violence or injuries. We will follow the standard de-escalation protocol and limit ourselves strictly to neutralization, security and detainment. Understood?"

Kase snapped to attention, his heels clicking together. "Sir, yes, sir."

"Good. ETA for the commissioner?"

Gor'Dan had been immediately receptive to Gaff's plan and sent all available units to the RV point ahead of him. His lack of surprise at the revelation of the tunnels, however, had told Gaff that the man had indeed known about their existence and chosen not to mention the security hazard to Gaff. The fact that Gaff, who was nominally in charge of planetary security, had been undermined in such a blatant way had rankled him, but he'd maintained a polite and respectful façade during his comm call with Commissioner Gor'Dan. He'd already railed against Wren for withholding this vital piece of Intel. There was no point in alienating the commissioner now and breaking the tentative peace and cooperation between them.

"ETA about ten minutes," Kase answered him evenly, apparently unaware of his commander's rather bitter thoughts. Gaff didn't know if this obliviousness was a deliberate ploy on the captain's part, or simply a result of the man's general stiff attitude. Either way, it gave Gaff a feeling of being in control of himself, at least outwardly and that was reassuring.

"What's keeping him?" Gaff wanted to know.

There was just the barest hint of scorn in Kase's voice as he said, "Flimsi work, apparently, sir."

Gaff allowed himself a sigh. Of course, the bureaucracy that kept the Republic moving. With a wince, Gaff remembered the mass of reports he would have to compile after this was over.

"Understood, Captain. Inform me when the commissioner arrives." In the right corner of his HUD he saw movement on the stairs, the crowd parting slightly as a Marit with a red neck-frill came down the marble steps. Cebz had come to see personally what was going on.

_Showtime. _"Captain Kase, take over mission control."

Kase's head jerked up a little in surprise at Gaff's words and for a moment, he was stunned enough to stammer, "S-sir?"

"_You don't have to oversee everything." _Ro's words echoed in his head. _"__You're men are smart, adaptable and fast learners… All you have to do is give them some free reign." _

It was good advice and it was time he put it to use. He'd been selfish in a way, thinking himself the only reliable resource at hand. His men _were _capable and it was time he rewarded that capability with the trust it deserved.

"You are in charge, Captain," Gaff repeated and fought down a smile at the no doubt startled expression on the usually stoic Kase. He nodded towards the waiting civilians and the approaching Cebz.

"Oversee matters here while I ensure cooperation from the civilian government."

It took less than a second for Kase to recover from his surprise at suddenly being placed in charge of an operation his commander had made no bones about wanting to lead. Snapping another precise salute, Kase said, "Sir, yes, sir" and trotted off towards the command vehicle, head dipping slightly as he began issuing orders via his bucket's comm.

Gaff watched him go, then turned back towards the Assembly House. For a moment, he considered taking off his bucket, approaching the civilians with his face bare, so as to appear less unsettling.

He'd always done so before, in a bid to be diplomatic. Now he discarded the notion.

_Don't play by their rules, _Gaff reminded himself. _You're the highest-ranking GAR official on this planet and this is your op. Make them understand._

The sight of all those officials gathered on the steps with their faces wreathed in disapproval did not trigger the usual sense of anxiety and trepidation. Instead, the scene, coupled with the memories of all the tirades and insults he'd suffered against himself, his command, clones in general and the Republic only caused a swell of impatience to rise within him.

He was in charge of their safety and he'd lost ten of his men performing that duty.

In the back of his mind, he could hear Ro say again those precious words. _"It wasn't your fault."_

Intellectually, he'd known that. But it was one thing to have your mind tell you the truth and another to have your heart recognize it as such. Gaff had blamed himself for what had happened to Fallout and his squad – he figured a small part of him would always blame himself – but Ro's reassurances had eased some of the guilt. She, unlike his men, was not obligated to tell him what he wanted to hear, nor did she know him well enough to lie to him to spare his feelings. She was, mostly, still a stranger, though it got harder every day to think of her as such.

He took a deep breath of the air filtering through his bucket, feeling something inside of him finally unwind. He could live with this. He could live with the memory of his dead troopers.

But that did not mean he would take their deaths lightly, nor did it mean he would accept death as inevitable. He would do all he could to protect his people and that meant getting a rabble of civvie politicians to recognize his authority and finally start listening.

Head held high, the commander strode towards Assembly House, his steps even and sure.

* * *

_En route to the Gaftikar Police Department, at the same time…._

"You didn't tell Gaff about just how effingly thermal this barve is," Wren called back to Ro.

They were back to sharing a speeder bike, since the effort to cover all tunnel entrances inside of the city had necessitated the employment of all the base's available landspeeders. This time, however, Wren had made sure that he was the one at the controls. No stanging way was he going to spend the trip to the police department clinging for dear life to the body of the frail little scrap of a girl who was also trying to kill him at over four-hundred kp/h.

"He didn't need to know," Ro called back. "He has enough on his mind as it is."

Unlike the landspeeders, the bike had no shields to filter out outside noise and the wiping wind, so Ro had to nearly shout to make herself heard. Wren, on the other hand, only had to turn up the volume of his bucket's exterior mic.

"And do you really believe he doesn't already know?"

The question made Wren hesitate. His first impulse was to laugh in derision and make a joke about shinies and all the things they were so hopelessly clueless about. But the truth was that, despite Wren's personal feelings towards Gaff, the noob commander was no fool. He was a clone after all and he had spent ten intense years learning everything there was to know about warfare. Even missing five months of that training, Gaff was still one of the best trained soldiers of the GAR.

"No," he answered. "He knows."

There was silence and in the wrap-around vision of his HUD Wren saw Ro duck her head a bit more and press her cheek against his armored back, trying to shield her face from the wind caused by their passage. She also had her arms tightly wrapped around his middle and though he couldn't feel the pressure of her skinny arms against him due to the armor, Wren found the closeness forced upon him uncomfortable. The fek knew why. It wasn't as if he hadn't been this close – and closer – with a woman before. Kriff, he probably knew more about a woman's body than the company medics. But there was nothing sexual in the way Ro clung to him now, nor any desire in her teal eyes. She was simply holding on to him because he was the most solid and convenient handhold available to her. It was an ordinary gesture, something so instinctive, she'd probably hadn't even thought about it and perhaps it was this normality that disturbed him.

The more Wren thought about it, the more he realized that he'd never actually spent as much time with a woman outside of a bed as he had with Ro in the past three days.

A hard slap to the spot between his shoulder blades brought him out of his thoughts and he automatically shifted a part of his attention away from the road and towards the feed in his HUD that would show him the source of the sudden attack.

It was Ro and her teal eyes were glaring at the back of his head, while strands of pale blond and electric blue hair whipped about her face. She'd redone her her hair into a tight knot at the back of her head before they'd left, but the wind had already pulled strands of it free again.

"Can't you go any faster?" she demanded loudly. "You drive like my granny!"

"You don't have a granny," he retorted and pointedly did not accelerate the bike. "Jedi don't have families."

In his HUD, he could see her roll her eyes exaggeratedly. "Shows what you know, cookie. For your information, I have an older brother."

_An older brother? Ah kripes, there are kriffing two of them? _Horrified by the mere concept, he quickly changed the topic.

"Why the fek are we bothering to get Gor'Dan involved in this? If that Shenio harpy is responsible for siccing that thermal barve on this mudball, it makes more sense to arrest her bony ass now. Not waste time with the boys in red."

"We need to involve the civilian government," she argued just as he passed a large speeder truck, its loading bed filled to the brim with rubble and dirt. Ro quickly had to duck her head as a fine spray of dirt rained down on them. She muttered something that sounded to him suspiciously like "fudge".

Once they were past the truck, Ro cracked one eye open, briefly peered past his shoulder at the oncoming traffic, then quickly pressed her face against his back again. He noted with some amusement that her eyes were already watering from her brief daring of the wind.

"Shenio's main argument is that Cebz and her crew are incompetent," she went on.

"They are," he said and activated the blinker to let the speeders behind him know he was changing lanes.

"So what? You want to stay here and play Hutt and Rangers with the GFH for the rest of the war?"

Well, no, he didn't. Actually, he'd rather do some R&R on Geonosis than stay a second longer on Gaftikar than he had to. And she probably knew it, the little nuisance.

When he stayed silent, Ro continued with her explanation, still shouting over the rushing wind and the noise of the traffic. "The point is, if Gor'Dan is the one to make the arrest, then it's Pure Sabacc for the civilian government. Gor'Dan's their man. He stayed in office during and after the siege. Everyone listens to him, Human and Marit. He's an authority figure and a government sanctioned one at that. This way, all the glory goes to him and Cebz."

"And when the _flarg _hits the ventilator…" Because fek only knew it would…

"Then I'll be the one in trouble," Ro assured him. "I'm the Jedi investigator, the girl with the badge. I've identified myself to Gor'Dan, I'm in charge of the investigation and I'll be the one chucked under the speeder."

"Fan-kriffing-tastic," he drawled. "You really are _loca, cheeka._"

"I know," she laughed. "Isn't it great?"

Up ahead, Wren saw the traffic holo turn red and he braked the bike in response.

"Hey!" Ro cried, as she felt them decelerating. "What are you doing?"

"Red light," Wren told her, annoyed at her backseat piloting. "I might be no badge-wielding, glowstick-swinging Jedi, but last I checked, red means stop."

She stared at him, gape-mouthed for a moment, then slapped him again between the shoulder blades with a loud _smack! _He felt nothing of course through the armor, but he still turned around in his seat, grabbing her hand before she could settle back around his waist.

They yelled at each other in unison.

"What the frak!"

"What are you doing!"

They glared at one another, while about them, drivers of surrounding landspeeders turned to stare.

"In case you forgot," Ro snapped out huffily, "we got a rabid rat on the loose. Remember? Rapid escalation, fire and explosions, totally unpredictable. Any of this ring a bell, jarhead?"

"Jarhead?" he asked her incredulously. "Listen, _cheeka, _I didn't forget anything. And for your information, its called a kriffing bucket."

"Whatever!" she yelled in exasperation and yanked her slender hand out of his grip. "Bucket! Jar! Whatever you're gonna call it, fact is you have a plastoid container covering that thick skull of yours, though Force knows why you bother. A grenade couldn't dent that noggin, buckethead."

He sat there, turned awkwardly about on the bike, struggling between anger and amusement. From the corner of his eye he registered the traffic holo switching from red to green and horns began to honk in indignation at their idling.

Finally, Wren shook his head, turning back and taking hold of the controls once more. With a powerful push of his leg, he revved the bike's engines.

"No one's called me buckethead in over eight years."

"Oh, I'm sure they did, cookie," she told him cheekily as she wrapped her arms back around his waist and pressed her cheek against his back once more. "Just not to your face."

That garnered a snort of wry amusement out of him. Kripes, she was probably right.

Wren brought the bike back into the flow traffic, weaving in and out of lanes, though he never went faster than the speed limit, because fek, it was a lot of fun to annoy the kriff out of the little Jedi.

With a cry of frustration barely audible over the slipstream, she beat one balled fist against his back plate. "Next time, I'm driving!"

"Over my dead and rotting corpse," he called back.

"Deal!"

* * *

_The Military Tactical Command Center, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Sighter ran the security program, watching as the system automatically cycled through every automated security node.

Much of the base's security was run this way, with motion sensors, heat cams and alert beacons placed at even intervals along the outer perimeter. The idea was to reduce the necessary organic security detail to a bare minimum, freeing up more troops for the fighting.

As a passionate tech, Sighter loved watching the system at work and enjoyed his role as its main operator. But the soldier in him at times scoffed at rapidly streaming lines of code, yearning for action instead of being confined to the MTCC and a chair.

At the thought, he let his eyes drift towards his two brothers. Cyph and Crypt were both bent studiously over their respective terminals, fingers flying expertly across the controls as they went about their assigned tasks.

Sighter didn't even have to ask what it was they were doing. It was 1845 hours and that meant a routine check of all active security measures in and around the base. It was the same check they performed every fifteen minutes and Sighter never got tired of it.

He knew some of the other members of F Company who'd pulled duty at the MTCC had complained bitterly about the repetitiveness of the job. Everything went like clockwork, nothing ever changed and the computers did all the real work.

Sighter didn't understand how they could complain. Just thinking about the complicated algorithms the computer was running right at this second or the massive bytes of data being processed made his heart hammer in excitement. It was a _marvel _and he was the one controlling it all. Without him to enter the proper commands or steer the programs in the right direction, none of this would be possible. The MTCC's powerful computers would be nothing more than pricey dust catchers without a skilled operator at the controls.

Maybe that's why he, Cyph and Crypt had been permanently assigned to the MTCC. Of all the troopers of F Company, they had the most talent for computers and cryption and did not see the duty as a waste of time. After the first two weeks on Gaftikar, Commander Gaff had changed their duty schedules so that the three of them could take regular shifts in the MTCC. For the purpose, the Commander had even given them permission to wear their uniform greys instead of the armor. Although modified, even the Phase II could get uncomfortable when sitting for long periods of time. The fatigues were more comfortable and personally, Sighter thought they looked better as well. More…professional, somehow.

The Commander was good like that. Always trying to give his men as much leeway as possible, without breaking the rules. Even back on Kamino, when they'd all still been cadets, Gaff had never once reprimanded a trooper about a novelty hairstyle. The only thing he hadn't allowed his men was to paint to their armor and that had caused some grumbling, though Sighter could understand the reason perfectly.

F Company was still a shiny company, no matter of the fact that they'd been out in the field for over two months now. They were unattached, still waiting to be assigned to a Corps and a Jedi. Painting their armor now, when they were still floating about like random zeroes in a code, would be pompous and arrogant. And once they were assigned, the troopers already in place would think F Company unwilling to conform to their established ways, all the little things that made a Corps unique.

Maybe they'd be assigned once this bomber had been caught. Certainly they couldn't be called complete shinies any more. Not after what happened to Fallout and his guys.

Sighter bit his lip and adjusted his headset. Fok had been one of his closest friends. Not a trained tech like Sighter and his crew, Fok had nevertheless shown an enthusiasm for slicing and Gaff had allowed the trooper to spend his off-duty hours in the MTCC, learning from the three techs, so long he didn't distract them from their duties.

Gaff was good that way as well and Fok had been so grateful and so eager to learn. He'd loved being an engineer, but getting past the durasteel skin of a machine and into its cybernetic brain had fascinated him as well.

Sighter would miss their long after-hours talk. Fok had had some pretty interesting theories about droids….

A red flashing alert at the corner of his screen caught his attention and Sighter focused his mind immediately; concentrating on the here and now and banishing memories of Fok into the back of his mind.

Sighter clicked on the flashing icon, bringing up the attached file and enlarging it until it filled the screen. He frowned at what he saw. Lines of code ran down the screen, letters and numbers rapidly streaming past.

He didn't need the decryption program to know what the code meant. The seemingly random configuration of numbers and letters were as easy for him to read as a holonovel. Motion detectors on the southeast side of the outer fence had detected a series of movements that matched the computer's datafiles of Human motion. The system had automatically sent out a small datastream with an id request. Had the detected figure been a clone, than his armor's tally slug would have sent an instant reply back to the subroutine, giving proper identification via serial number, rank and chosen name.

But the outer fence subroutine had detected no answering datastream and had therefore alerted the main security program back at the base of the incident. And the program was alerting him.

With a frown, Sighter pulled the mic of his headset closer to his mouth with one hand, while opening a comm channel to the closest perimeter guard. There was a brief burst of static and then…

"Fister here, what is it?"

Sighter rolled his eyes at the fire support trooper.

There were those who complained about Sergeant Wren's attitude and most days, Sighter was one of them. But at least the Sergeant had a reason for his arrogance. The man had seen more action that all of F Company put together and on some of the Republic's most notorious battlefields to boot and he'd come out of it alive and snarling. Fister, on the other hand, was just a rookie who thought he was Kamino's gift to small time techs like Sighter and was therefore above protocol.

"Perimeter Guard 4, here is Overwatch. You have a possible infiltration at perimeter section Delta-Zeloc-Corrie. Repeat, unidentified none authorized intruder detected at Delta-Zeloc-Corrie."

There was a crackling burst over his comset that made Sighter wince. Fister had apparently just expelled a good breath of air directly into his comm. _Jerk, _Sighter thought acidly.

"Probably just a kragget rat," Fister muttered.

"Negative," Sighter said with some emphasis. "Motion detectors peg the infiltrator at mass and height of a Human. Proceed with caution," he added, just to remind Fister of the fact that they were still technically in hostile territory. Gaftikar might be a Republic planet on flimsi, but the entire company was aware of the fact that the Human locals would rather have the clones gone, dead or both.

"Yeah, yeah," Fister said leisurely over the comm and Sighter felt himself flush with anger at the continued disregard for his warnings.

"A reminder, Perimeter Guard 4," Sighter bit out, "you are on open channel and being recorded, as per protocol."

_That _at least, shut Fister up.

Behind him, Sighter could hear quiet laughter and he turned about in his chair just enough to see Crypt covering his own headset with one hand, his body shaking with suppressed mirth. Next to the encryption specialist Cyph was grinning wickedly.

There was always some rivalry going on between the foot soldiers and the techs and Sighter had just scored a big point for the brain-squad.

Despite the small victory and Sighter's general annoyance with Fister, the tech did not forget his primary objective. Quickly, he called up the cam feeds for that section of perimeter fence, while simultaneously calling up Fister's POV icon. The upper portion of his screen split into two, displaying two different cam feeds; one showing a section of the forest surrounding the side and back of the base, the other moving slightly as Fister trotted towards the breach.

Sighter frowned as he gazed at the first feed. The security cams weren't picking anything up. He peered more closely at the screen, his right hand operating the cam's controls, zooming in and moving the cam from left to right.

The motion detectors were still insisting that there was something – someone – out there, but the cam wasn't seeing anything….No, wait. _There!_

A dark shadow moved among the foliage, rustling the leaves of some nearby bushes.

"Fister, we got contact on your two o'clock, circa twelve meters outside of perimeter fence."

"Confirmed, Overwatch." Fister's words were now downright polite and as per protocol.

His POV icon moved towards the indicated direction and Sighter saw via Fister's HUD the same shadow, this time two meters from the original position. The outline was definitely Human and he or she was drawing closer to the perimeter fence.

"Halt!" Fister shouted at the shadow, his voice coming in loud and clear over Sighter's headset. "This is a secured area! Identify yourself!"

There was more rustling of leaves and then Sighter's eyes widened as from the forest there emerged the figure of a young woman. She was thin, with lank dark hair and she bent over as if in extreme pain. She staggered towards the location of the fence and Fister, looking like she was ready to buckle.

"H-he-help me, p-p-please." Her voice was so weak Sighter could barely pick it up over the audio feed.

"_Osik,_" Fister cursed and ran towards the fence. With a quick stab of his finger, he entered his security code into the mounted pad, deactivating the charge that ran through the fence and threw open one of the small doors located along the fence.

"Overwatch call med…"

"Medical is already being alerted," Sighter interrupted. With one eye on the cam feeds and the swaying form of the wounded woman, Sighter quickly spoke into his mic, alerting Wess of an incoming casualty. At the same time, he hand signaled Crypt and Cyph to take over the security check while he handled this emergency.

Fister had by now reached the bent over woman. Sighter saw his armored hand reach out to touch her shoulder. "Ma'am," Fister said, trying to make his voice sound reassuring. "It'll be alright. Help his on its way."

The woman turned her face up to look at Fister, staring unintentionally directly into his bucket's cam feed. Sighter felt a chill go down his spine at the sight. There was no pain in her face, no fear, only triumph.

Then her face twisted into a snarling mask of disgust. "Tube spawn," she spat and straightened from her bent over pose, revealing the small handheld blaster she'd kept concealed against her body.

Fister only had time to jerk backwards in surprise, before the woman shot him point blank.

There was a single popping sound over his headset, then Fister let out a wet gurgling sound. The angle of his POV icon titled crazily for a moment, colors blurring as Fister collapsed backwards. Then one corner of Sighter's screen was blanketed with the view of a blue and empty sky. It couldn't have taken more than three seconds.

"Holy…" Sighter sprang up from his chair in surprise, knocking it over backwards in the process. For a single second, he was too stunned by the events to act then ten years of training kicked in with a vengeance and his fingers flew over the control board.

He was aware that Crypt and Cyph were yelling at him, asking him what was going on, but Sighter didn't listen. He was trying to get the electric charge of the perimeter fence back online, but in his haste to get to the seemingly injured woman, Fister had left the gate open. For safety reasons, the fence was a closed system and the charge would only flow through the mesh when all the gates were closed.

Sighter was trying to override the safety protocol while at the same time directing the other perimeter guards towards Fister's position. Then something caught his attention from the corner of his eye and Sighter's head jerked towards the still functioning cam feeds.

Around Fister's prone POV icon Sighter could detect movement. A lot of movement. And there were voices coming in over his headset, _male and female. _

_There's more of them, _Sighter realized, just as Crypt shouted, "Breach! We've been breached!"

Without thinking, Sighter's hand moved towards a large, red control button set to the side of his console. He slapped his hand down on it and sirens began to wail. "Case Red!" he shouted into his headset, the message being broadcast on open channel throughout the base. "All personnel to…."

The sirens abruptly cut off. A hiss of static went through Sighter's headset, making him flinch, then he stared in transfixed horror as his screens went black with a single flicker of defiance.

Behind him, Crypt cursed in Mando'a and someone banged a fist against something metallic.

And then the lights went out, plunging the three techs into darkness.


	28. Chapter 27: Snake Eyes

**Snake Eyes**

_"This was more than just a glitch_. _This was every god in the universe looking down and saying: 'We're sorry, but today we will make you our bitches.'" _

_- Mercedes Lackey, _Invasion

* * *

_Eyat Police Department, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

Ro burst into Eyat's police department, giving the two sliding doors barely enough time to create an opening wide enough for her to slip through. Her rather dramatic entrance was punctuated by the fact that she was shouting at the top of her lungs, her head turned towards the armored clone following closely on her heels.

"…row a pair, cookie! There's no reason not to speed when it's an emergency!"

"Who got slagged and appointed you the krinking brass balls?" Wren shouted back, his voice echoing a little through his helmet's mic.

"What do you think my badge is for? A bit of pretty?"

"Stuff your pretty down your fekking…"

"What is going on out here?" A third voice interrupted.

Ro stopped and turned to face the outer forum of the station for the first time. What greeted her was the sight of practically every Rimmer police station across the galaxy: a wide reception desk manned by the duty officer and three others, a scattering of over a dozen smaller desks behind that and at the very back of the large room, several severe looking doors leading to private offices and no doubt the holding cells.

There were maybe twenty people left in the station and Ro felt a rush of blood in her cheeks as she realized they were all staring at her and Wren. The room hummed with _surprise, incredulity _and one particular thread of unmistakable _indignation _emanating from Commissioner Gor'Dan. The man had obviously been in the act of leaving, stopped cold at the reception desk by hers and Wren's sudden appearance. Now his fists were planted firmly on the scarred roo-wood top of the reception desk, his long handled moustache twitching with his outrage.

_Ahhh, mynock muffins, _she thought and fought the urge to hunch her head between her shoulders in embarrassment.

Wren leaned slightly down towards her from behind, his voice barely a whisper. "Maybe you should flash him your fancy badge again." There was no mistaking the amusement in his voice and Ro briefly had to close her eyes and count backwards from ten to keep herself from kicking him in the shins. A fruitless exercise, given his armor and she had no need of a bruised foot to go along with her bruised ego.

"Well?" Gor'Dan demanded in a loud voice. "What do you want?"

Ro took a deep breath. _Professional, _she reminded herself. _It's time to play the Jedi in Jedi investigator. _

Raising her small round chin to a proud angle, Ro said coolly into the gathering silence of the forum, "A moment of your time, please, Commissioner. There is a new development in the case that I would like to discuss with you."

Gor'Dan's moustache gave another twitch. "A new development?" he repeated dubiously. He glanced quickly at a wall-mounted chrono. "I was just on my way to meet with the commander. I am supposed to be helping him coordinate the plugging of the tunnel system."

Ro bit the inside of her cheek at his emphasis of the last sentence. _Helping indeed, _she thought sarcastically. While she was quite happy over the fact that Gor'Dan seemed to have gotten his act together and decided to cooperate with Gaff, she was not naïve enough to think that the tunnels were news to the commissioner. It had been implied early upon her arrival that Gor'Dan sympathized with the GFH and he'd called Kezner by his first name back at the base's holding cells. Added to that, Gor'Dan had been Police Commissioner since Gaftikar had first been colonized. No way a man that high up in the food chain hadn't known about klicks worth of tunnels being built right under his city.

_Helping, _Ro continued silently, _would have been telling Gaff about the tunnels in the first place. _Come to that, there had to be some politicians who'd known about the tunnels as well. The more she thought about it, the more Ro realized that probably the only people who hadn't known were the Marits, the clones and her own humble self.

"I'm sure Commander Gaff can handle the situation on his own for a few more minutes. He's a very capable man," she said aloud, her voice echoing slightly through the forum. Wren shifted next to her, radiating impatience at this continued delay. But Ro was bound and determined not to move an inch from her current position until Gor'Dan asked her to. The Jedi would come to the mountain, but only once the mountain asked for it. Politely.

"What I have to say," she went on, "directly concerns the identification and location of the man who has been terrorizing your city."

_That _at least, got her a reaction.

The remaining officers turned towards one another, whispering urgently amongst themselves, no doubt in speculation. Gor'Dan glanced about at his staff, seeing their eager expressions and came to the conclusion that further delay would only be to his disadvantage.

"Fes'Ka," he said, turning towards the duty officer still standing behind the big desk. "Call up Commander Gaff and tell him I'm being delayed by…" he paused, his eyes flickering from side to side and with her usual humor, Ro realized that Gor'Dan had forgotten her name.

"Jedi investigator Padawan Roweena Arhen," Wren supplied into the silence with a laconic drawl.

Surprised and a little impressed, Ro turned towards the trooper, raising a pale eyebrow at his excellent memory. He'd only heard her full name and title once and that had been three days ago.

The white helmet tilted slightly, so that the black visor was pointed in her direction. Though she couldn't see his face, Ro got the distinct impression that behind the anonymity of his helmet, Wren was smirking down at her.

_Jerk, _she thought, but without heat.

"Yes." Gor'Dan accepted the correction with an uncharitable expression. "Yes, inform the commander that Padawan Arhen and I need to discuss the case at hand."

"Right away, Commissioner," the duty officer said hastily and bent his head to a comm unit set into the desk.

Gor'Dan jerked his head in the direction of the back offices, indicating for Ro and Wren to follow.

Ro did so, easily weaving her way through the mess of single desks, waste receptacles and other litter that tended to accumulate in a busy station. Wren, walking next to her, was less practiced in maneuvering his way through a police station and had to step a bit more lively to avoid stepping on a half-full box of dark matter sprinkled donuts. He cursed when he nearly got tangled in a mess of cables snaking along the floor and finally decided his best course of action was to follow behind Ro, stepping where she stepped.

At the end of the large room, Gor'Dan came to a door with a frosted transparisteel plate set into it. The plate bore gold letterings spelling out the words:

**Worthington Gor'Dan**

**Police Commissioner, Gaftikar **

Noisily, Gor'Dan palmed the door open and stomped into his office. Ro followed, taking in the space in a quick glance. It was nothing like Gaff's office, which had been painfully neat, organized and functional. This place was as much of a mess as the outer office had been. Stacks of flimsis were scattered about on almost every available flat surface, including the two visitor chairs. Datapads and datacrystals had been shoved in-between the flimsi files, or were piled in the far corner of the room. Cartons of old and half eaten preordered meals were stacked haphazardly on one table to the left. Ro wrinkled her nose at the smell coming from that particular corner and curiosity warring with disgust as she wondered if she would need a bioscanner to determine the age and identity of some of those leftovers.

Ro wasn't a particularly neat person herself, but this office was definitely more of the dirty variety than messy.

Entering the office behind her, Wren stopped in the doorway, surveying the scene with cool deliberation, as if accessing it for possible tactical advantages. "You know," he drawled when he was done. "I've seen battlefields more orderly than this."

Ro sighed as Gor'Dan's face went red with rage. Wonderful. Why had she thought bringing Wren along for this had been good idea again?

Turning towards the trooper she pointed her index finger at him and said in her best imitation of Eda at her most threatening, "You. Sit." And her finger swung around to indicate one of the crowded chairs. "Silently," she added.

He stood there unmoving for a long stretch of seconds and Ro could feel him wavering between a renewed wave of anger at her presumption to order him about and dry amusement with her bossiness.

Ro knew she was pushing things by giving him an order at all, let alone in front of a man Wren didn't particularly like. If she'd learned anything these past days it was that he was as contrary as a vine cat. He would defy an order for no other reason than to spite the person doing the ordering. And she could respect that. She didn't particularly like being ordered about all day long either and was therefore willing to accommodate him for the most part. But Ro knew that if she didn't draw the line at some point and stand up for the things that were important to her, then he'd just walk all over her like a used rug with nary a thought. He could be cruel in the throes of his temper; she'd seen that first hand. But more than that, he could be callous and she needed to show him that she would not stand for it all the time.

"Are you two done yet?" Gor'Dan asked impatiently.

Wren's helmeted head lifted from her resolute face to Gor'Dan's, slowly and thoughtfully. Something in her expression must have convinced him that she would match his stubbornness iota for iota or maybe Wren simply decided that this was not a battle he cared to fight. Either way, he silently sidestepped Ro and walked towards one of the visitor's chairs in front of Gor'Dan's desk. With a single sweep of his arm, he sent a pile of flimsis clattering to the office floor and under Gor'Dan's shouts of protest he let himself fall into the uncomfortably looking chair.

Ro winced at the action and looking at the apoplectic expression spreading across Gor'Dan's face wondered if she'd just won or lost this go around with the smart cookie.

"Are you…What do you milking think you are…." Gor'Dan took a couple of deep breaths, trying to reign in his temper, an action Ro was quick to subtly support through the Force. It seemed to work, because the alarming shade of red began to fade from the commissioner's face.

"You were saying," he ground out, "about the case?"

"Yeah," Ro said and quickly stepped in front of the desk behind which Gor'Dan had seated himself. "Sergeant Wren and I went over the evidence again this morning after my encounter with the criminal and we've come to a defining conclusion."

Ro gestured towards the silent form of Wren as she talked. Just because he was a jerk did not mean she would deny him the credit he deserved.

But Gor'Dan didn't seem to be listening to her any longer. He was staring at her, bug eyed, jaw almost dropped to his growing paunch.

"Yo-you met the bomber?" he stammered out, incredulous. Then his jaw snapped shut and a look of suspicion crossed his face. "And you let him get away?"

"It wasn't like that," she defended, affronted by his accusatory tone. "He ducked down one of those bemuffined tunnels you conveniently forgot to tell me about."

This time it was Gor'Dan who was offended. He drew himself up, looking down his considerable nose and moustache at her. "I don't like what you're implying, Jedi investigator" he told her stiffly.

"She's implying," Wren interrupted, "that you knew about the kriffing tunnels and didn't tell us or her because you damnably well knew the fekking GFH were using them to dance the karking tango right under our noses. You know she's right. I know she's right and you can krinking well believe she knows she's right." The black slit of his visor fixed on Gor'Dan. "Now shut it and listen. For once she actually has something of importance to say and you might actually learn something about police work."

Ro jerked a little in surprise, turning her large teal eyes on Wren, who didn't even so much as spare her a single glance. Had he just...defended her?

The realization caused her to squeal inwardly in delight. It would appear she'd actually made a friend during this case and an ally. She wanted to hug the fluffed stuffing out him, never-no-mind his cool/stoic, big bad soldier image, but a glance in Gor'Dan's direction caused the impulse to wither to dust.

Commissioner Gor'Dan had jumped to his feet and his face had gone deathly pale in the aftermath of Wren's little speech. His lips were compressed to the point where they were nothing more than a thin line and his moustache was so taught it looked like a miniature stohl poised to attack. His emotional aura was practically bombarding Ro with black and red waves of _rage_, _indignation_ and an oddly jittery combination of _guilt_ and _outrage_. Then, with a heavy exhale, Gor'Dan's beefy shoulders slumped and he dropped back into his chair with a creak.

"Alright," he said wearily, drawing one hand over his face. "I give up. What you said is right. I did know about the tunnels and I didn't tell you…well, I'm actually not sure why I didn't tell. Pure spite, I suppose." He looked at Ro with regret, but without much apology and she could feel little sincere remorse from him over his omission. Gor'Dan knew that what he'd done had been wrong, but he felt no real guilt over his actions. "Now, what is it you have to tell me about the bomber?"

"He's not a bomber," Ro said, deciding that at this point it was best for her to just jump right in. There'd be nothing won in doling out recriminations now. She wanted to save Gaftikar and needed this man's help to do so, but she would not forget what had happened. Ro didn't like cops who operated on personal preference, rather than the law. That was only a short hop and twist away from being a dirty cop. "He's a serial killer," she informed Gor'Dan, her face revealing nothing of her inner musings.

Gor'Dan looked at her blankly. "A serial killer," he repeated, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to explain that one to me."

She did so; carefully going over the events of this moment from the time she'd left the _Mockingbird _to when she, Gaff and Wren had split up to their respective tasks. She did her best to explain to the commissioner the workings of the Force and the comprehension it had led her to.

Gor'Dan listened to it all in silence, from time to time fingering the various documents littered across his desk absentmindedly. Wren didn't say another word for the duration of her recitation either. With his arms crossed over his chest and his chin resting lightly against his chest plate, he could have been mistaken for being asleep. Only the agitated eddies and whirls in the Force surrounding him let Ro know he was still listening attentively. And he was watching Gor'Dan like a prowling akk dog.

When she was done, she stopped in front of Gor'Dan's desk- she'd been pacing again – and waited for the commissioner to call up his forces.

Slowly stroking the edges of his impressive moustache, Gor'Dan glanced first at Wren then at her, his expression pensive. "A serial killer," he said slowly. "An unstable serial killer, who just happens to kill via bombs, filled with an unknown incendiary substance and who was hired by Shenio Mining to discredit our government, so that they can have full access to our kelerium and norax deposits." He sighed heavily, settling his bulk further into the creaking chair. "I don't buy it."

At this Wren raised his head, turning the faceplate towards the commissioner. It was the first sign of life he'd given since she'd started talking and Ro felt a spike of _irritation _lance away from him, before he gave a derisive snort. "Crinking figures," he muttered, but didn't elaborate.

Gor'Dan shot an angry glare at the trooper. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he asked crossly.

"That I'm not kriffing surprised," Wren told him, a bite in his voice. "Trying to make a fekking mudlicker see logic of any kind is like trying to teach a karking Weequay some damned manners. Exercise in effing futility…."

"Wren," Ro said wearily. The trooper turned his helmeted head towards her, his head tilting up as if he were about to say something more. He didn't though. The black visor remained fixed on her face for a few seconds, then wordlessly turned back towards the commissioner. At that moment, Ro couldn't get an accurate read of him at all, because all of his emotions were drowned out by that crackling lightning wall of anger.

Gor'Dan, on the other hand, was as easy to read as a Zeltron in lust. The commissioner was sitting silently behind his desk, fuming and glaring at Wren fit to drop a gundark.

For her part, Ro only felt a sense of resignation settle over her. Would it never end? The fighting and the questioning of her abilities?

Standing here in this messy office, trying to convince a stubborn man of the truth behind her conclusions, Ro felt as if she were back in the Temple, trying to convince the other Jedi investigators that she was worthy of joining their ranks, despite all of her….quirks. It was like this on almost every job. Ro would be confronted with older, more experienced law enforcement officers and they'd smile politely and pat her head, while behind her back they whispered and dismissed everything that came out of her mouth. Usually she ignored them, worked around their skepticism, as she'd done with the Knights and Masters of the Jedi Investigator Service Branch back at the Temple. And once she came back with a netted rat, the patronizing smiles and polite dismissals would usually stop.

But looking at Gor'Dan's closed and disbelieving face, feeling his rejection of her words - of _her _- in the Force, Ro could not help but feel some resentment of her own.

_When will it end? _She wondered silently. _When will people finally take me seriously? _

Then she remembered the mother and her child, whom she'd help rescue from a burning building and ruined Drezd'any Street and decided it didn't matter. It didn't matter if she was the laughingstock of half the galaxy. What mattered was that she knew she was right in her bones and that she made Mr. Tough-And-Mustached see it.

Ro drew herself up to her full height, chin jutted out stubbornly as a feisty voice inside of her said, _Convince him. You've been convincing people for years. No one ever said it was going to be easy. _

"What precisely," she said coolly, imitating the formal tones of her former Master perfectly, "is it that you don't…'buy', Commissioner?"

Both men turned to stare at her, surprised at the sudden ice in her voice and the aloofness of her expression. Ro was deliberately going into full Jedi-mode, knowing that nothing cowed a person more than being confronted with a distant sentient who thought she had all the answers. To add the sprinkles to the cupcake, she tucked her hands into the wide sleeves of her indigo shirt.

"I…" Gor'Dan hesitated, then tried straightening in his seat, obviously remembering that while she was a Jedi, she was also still a Padawan and a teenager. "I don't see what difference it makes," he said, his voice acquiring a hint of petulance, "whether you call this man a bomber or a serial killer. Either way, he's killed almost sixty innocent people."

"The difference," Ro said, "is in the motivation." She deliberately modulated her voice so that it took on that condescending lecturing quality that Master Adriav had always used at her most Jedi-esque moments. "A bomber acts out of a grudge. Once the source of his resentment has been eliminated, he stops. A serial killer acts out of nothing more than desire and hunger. He _needs _to kill," she said and leaned towards the commissioner, hands braced on the cluttered desk, her gaze intense. "There is no quenching his bloodlust, Commissioner. He has no compassion, no ties to his fellow sentients. His actions originate from nothing more than his own twisted hunger and sense of gratification. And he's _escalating._" She made sure to pronounce the word carefully, wanting Gor'Dan to understand the significance of this.

"He initiated two vicious attacks in two days, one bigger than the last. He's been systematically working himself into the more populated areas, seeking more victims. He's caught in the kill cycle. The more he kills the greater his hunger for more deaths becomes and the higher his body count needs to be and it never stops, until he's stopped."

Dawning comprehension bloomed on Gor'Dan's ruddy face. "You think he'll attack again, maybe even today," he said, breathless. "That's why Commander Gaff is taking care of the tunnels."

"Yes," she confirmed. "Like I said, he's escalating, losing all sense of control over his urges. He might have already selected his new target. This rat is clever and has at least a limited organizational capability. But I am counting on the fact that he will not strike as long as he can't reach his target. Everything he does is for his own gratification. If he can't watch his target explode and burn, then there's no reason for it to happen. So I'm trying to cut him off from the city." She took a deep breath, releasing some of her pent up anxiety back into the Force on the exhale. She could feel Gor'Dan's disbelieve disappearing in the Force, like smoke on the wind.

"But cutting him off from Eyat will also drive him into a corner," she continued. "He considers this city to be _his _hunting ground. Denying easy access via the tunnels will enrage or panic him, maybe both and it will almost surely drive him to do something extreme."

There, she'd said it, the one major flaw in the entire plan.

Ro was certain that flooding the tunnels with teargas was the best course of action to take right now, but she could not deny that it would almost certainly be the spark that lit the killer's own fuse. By letting Gaff go through with his plan she'd deliberately forced a confrontation between the killer and her forces. They were on the clock now. There was no way this rat hadn't yet discovered that his tunnels were unusable, which meant that they needed to find him within the day. And for everything to fall into place, she needed Gor'Dan.

"Dear gods," Gor'Dan whispered and one hand wiped across his moustache as he gazed, shocked and unseeing, into the empty air. Ro could feel a ripple in the Force, like a pebble falling into a pool and knew that Gor'Dan had come to see the entirety of the picture and all the possible consequences.

"I don't think the gods are terribly interested," Wren drawled.

Ro glanced at him, curiously. In the rising tension of the office, Wren was an island of calm, his previous anger practically evaporated into thin air. He felt almost…_serene. _

_This is what he lives for, _she realized. _Not order and peace, but chaos and mounting danger. That's what he loves, what he loves to pit himself against. _

"But why?" Gor'Dan continued in a husky whisper, ignoring Wren's comment. "Why would Shenio…" then he shook his head. "No, never mind. I know why." He gave a heavy sigh. "Credits." His red-rimmed eyes met Ro's squarely. "Alright, Padawan. You have me convinced. It's a serial killer and we need to stop him. Today and I'll help you any way I can."

Ro felt her spirits immediately lift and she smiled down at the commissioner, grateful and feeling just a tad triumphant. "Thank you, Commissioner. Now we really should…."

She was interrupted by Gor'Dan, who raised a hand to stop her. "But I can't help you with Shenio."

Her jaw dropped. "What?"

"Padawan," he said in a reasonable tone of voice. "You have no concrete evidence. What you have are speculations and conclusions based on circumstantial evidence at best. There's nothing tying Shenio Mining into this except for your…" he paused, then shrugged. "Your…_hunch _from the Force. Last I checked, a Jedi's hunch still doesn't hold up in court."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Gor'Dan simply went on talking.

"I believe you, Padawan and I appreciate the fact that you'd let me make the collar to help my government assert its legitimacy. However," and here he heaved another heavy sigh. "If I arrest the head of a respectable and well-connected corporation on nothing more than the fact that their storage hangar is the one target that wasn't connected to a series of tunnels built by a once Separatist associated militia…" he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "How do you think that will look to the courts, let alone the Senate?"

"But we found traces of high-grade, very pure ore at all of the sites," Ro argued, though in her heart she realized that Gor'Dan was right. What was worse, she knew that even if he were wrong, she wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise. He wanted to help, but he didn't want to go out on a limb.

"This is a mining town, Padawan," he said with infinite patience and slight condescension, as if she were a youngling who couldn't see the stone she was about to trip over. "You will find such traces in almost every building in the city. It's meaningless." He looked at her soberly. "I'm sorry, but if you are going to insist on arresting Director Lucara on such spurious evidence, then you will need to make the arrest yourself."

"It won't mean anything if I do it. This is the only way for Gaftikar to prove to the Senate that you can handle your own affairs," she whispered at him, trying not to plead.

Gor'Dan looked away from her. "I know," he said, just as quietly. "If we don't capture this madman, more people will die, Gaftikar's reputation will be ruined and the Senate will suspend the government. Shenio will win. At the moment, without concrete evidence, it doesn't matter whether I act or not."

"Then act," she argued vehemently. "If it doesn't matter what you do, then at least do something."

"I will not," he said slowly, "actively hasten our downfall."

And with that, the conversation was over.

* * *

_The Assembly House, the government block, Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (26 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)_

"Commander, what is happening?" Cebz demanded as soon as he was in hearing range.

"Planetary Leader." Gaff gave her a perfunctory nod, then stretched out one hand towards the Assembly House. "We should talk inside." Without waiting for her to accept, Gaff walked past her and up the steps towards the grand building.

In his bucket's wrap-around vision, Gaff saw Cebz cock her head to the side in momentary confusion and curiosity at his behavior. Then, without another word, she followed him, the claws tipping her scaly toes clacking softly against the marble of the Assembly Hall steps.

The other officials gathered on the steps quickly parted before him, looking back and forth between him and Cebz. Gaff saw the long-nosed Minister of Health cast a suspicious look at the Marit who oversaw Gaftikar's treasury, before they both hurried after Gaff and the Planetary Leader.

By the time Gaff got to Cebz's office, about half of the council was trailing behind. He was the first to enter Cebz's stylish office and he waited politely before her low desk – fixed so as to be comfortable for the meter tall Marit – until everyone had assembled.

Gaff turned his full attention on Cebz, fixing the Marit with the blank visor of his helmet.

"This morning," he began, "I received the Intel that the criminal responsible for the bombings has been making his way through the city unopposed via a series of tunnels."

"Tunnels?" Cebz asked.

Marit faces were not easy to read. For one, Marits tended to react to a situation differently than most Humans. For another, their physiognomy was almost completely reptiloid, making their facial features alien. But Gaff had been dealing with the Marits for over two months now and clones were by nature and necessity adept at reading people's body language. There was no mistaking Cebz's confusion at the mention of tunnels. _She _at least, had not known about their existence. Which was more than could be said for the three Human council members gathered about the office.

There was distinct pupil dilation in all three of them. The Minister of Health had visibly flinched at the mention of the tunnels and one of the men, the Minister of Traffic, was obviously shocked. The other Marits, however, were as confused as Cebz.

_Wonderful, _Gaff thought and felt resentment mix with some gratification inside of him. At least he hadn't been the only one to be kept in the dark.

"Tunnels," Gaff repeated with some emphasis. "According to the GFH leader…"

"Avnen told you this?" The Minister of Traffic exclaimed incredulously. Then he flushed as he realized his slip of the tongue.

Cebz's head darted to the side to focus on him in one of those bursts of lightning-fast movements the Marits were prone to. The red, slitted pupils of her eyes contracted until they were mere slits and her eyes appeared to be nothing more than black holes. The beige of her slightly iridescent scales darkened, as did her red neck-frill.

"Avnen." She repeated the name, her normally flawless Basic suddenly accentuated with a reptilian pronunciation. "You mean Avnen _Kesssnerrr,_" and she actually hissed the last word.

One of the other Marits in the office hissed, his head ducking down until it was parallel with the ground and obscuring access to his exposed neck. Gaff recognized the aggressive pose, probably a purely instinctive reaction on the Marit's part. He felt alarm course through him and quickly tamped it down as he saw the three Humans shrink back in fear.

He needed to keep in control of this meeting; otherwise the council members would simply fall back into useless squabbling.

Gaff slammed his armored fist onto Cebz's desk.

The crash of plastoid impacting with wood made the others jump and every pair of eyes turned to regard him, startled and surprised. They were not used to him being so forceful.

"Yes," he said, his voice neutral and not betraying anything. "Avnen Kezner. He was interrogated a second time and revealed the existence of the tunnels. They were built during the siege," he told Cebz, once more turning towards her. "By the locals, using their mining equipment. The tunnels served as supply routes. Later, after the Battle of Gaftikar and the disbandment of the militia, the GFH used them to get around our patrols and blockades. The killer found out about them and has been using them ever since."

"Why was I not informed of the existence of these tunnels before?" Cebz addressed the room at large.

"Because…" the Minister of Traffic stepped forwards, outrage on his broad face.

"You are being informed now." Gaff cut the man off. He swept the room and though the council members could not see it, his eyes lingered on every one. "We cannot afford right now to argue over the past," he told them sternly. "Gaftikar is facing a crisis and I am here to inform you about the steps being taken to avert that crisis. Now I would suggest," and he quickly modulated his voice to a more subdued tone, "Ministers, Planetary Leader, that you listen, because you must decide what the public should or should not know about the current operation."

There was an expectant silence in the large office, which Gaff took as his cue to continue. "My company is currently in the process of flooding the tunnels with teargas," he explained. "It is our hope to render them uninhabitable for the time being. As there is little ventilation inside the tunnel system, the gas will linger underground for at least the next twenty-four hours. This will, hopefully, cut the criminal off from Eyat. Local law enforcement officers from GPD are accompanying my troops, running interference between them and any locals." He looked from one to the other, gauging their reactions.

Cebz, on whom everything still hinged, looked attentive and curious. At least, her eyes on him were unblinking and steady and her pupils had returned to their normal size. The reactions of the others appeared to range from anywhere between shock, apathy, disbelief and acceptance.

Looking at these bare faces, a good half of them alien and difficult to read even for him, it suddenly occurred to Gaff how useful it would be to be an empath. Ro had been able to read these people like an unencrypted datapad the first time she'd met them and direct their attention in the direction she'd wanted. It was only now, when he was trying to emulate her, that he realized just how difficult a task that was. How exactly did you take control of a room full of strangers, – civilians at that – grab their attention and direct it successfully?

Well, he'd better give it a try.

"I am assuming that you already know of the Senate's decision to discuss the possibility of initiating martial law on Gaftikar?" he asked the assembled politicians.

Minister D'Cham sniffed, her long nose wrinkling in the process. "Of course we know," she told him haughtily, then reluctantly inclined her head towards Cebz. "Leader Cebz informed us of the situation as soon as she heard of it this morning. The entire governing council and the commissioner has been informed."

"Then you all know that as the only Republic forces currently onplanet, my company will be the ones to enforce that order." His hands fell to rest on his utility belt, his right hand automatically sliding atop his holstered Deece. He met the eyes of everyone in the room from behind his bucket, as if they were his officers during a mission briefing. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to go all the way. "I will be honest. I do not have the troop strength to safely implement the measures required to oversee a planet under martial law. More importantly…"

He hesitated again. _Come on, _he thought to himself. _You've been honest so far. Might as well tell the whole truth__. _Another, slightly more caustic voice added, _You'd be the first one to do so. _

"More importantly, I do not want to."

Silence met his statement, although one of the Marits, the only male among the group, flared his nostrils in what might have been a disbelieving gesture.

"My mission goal is to preserve planetary security," Gaff told them, fighting down the urge to shift in discomfort at their continued silent scrutiny. "I have lost ten of my men in the pursuit of that goal. I know what the public's reaction will be if Gaftikar is set under martial law. It will be chaos and I do not want that anymore than you do. I want to preserve the peace on this planet, fragile as it is and for that to happen, two things need to be accomplished: the killer who has been setting bombs needs to be caught and the Senate needs to regain confidence in the ruling council. I'm working on the former, but only you can achieve the latter."

More silence and this time he couldn't quite suppress an uncomfortable shifting of his feet. The seven assembled politicians traded glances, whereby the Marits ducked their heads to meet Cebz's eyes in a display of submissive inquisitiveness. Slowly, sullenly on some parts, the three Humans also turned towards Cebz.

The Marit leader looked from one to the other, her red neck-frill extending slightly and collapsing again in turn. Gaff had never seen a Marit do that and he wondered if it signified hesitation or embarrassment or anything at all.

Finally, Cebz turned her sharp-muzzled head towards Gaff, the nictitating membranes of her eyes briefly closing. Something else he'd never seen her do before and the alien gesture, coupled with the continued quietude of the room was starting to make him feel on edge. He could not forget that, despite their civil appearance, the Marits were born guerrilla fighters and Cebz had been one of those trained personally by one of the legendary Null ARCs.

Had he crossed a line? Was she contemplating biting through his throat with her needle-like teeth? Marits had a firmly set hierarchy and did not take kindly to uppity creatures usurping their leadership.

"I understand," Cebz finally said and Gaff felt the knot growing in his stomach unraveling.

"As Padawan Arhen said, you need us to act according to our station. We need to win over the majority of the Senate." She cocked her head at this, as if surprised by her own wording. "The majority," she repeated. "It makes sense."

And to a Marit, it probably did.

Cebz turned towards her fellow colleagues. "I suggest we start by addressing the Senate together, as a united front…"

An insistent chirp sounded inside of his bucket and Gaff saw a comm icon in his HUD flash red. Someone was trying to reach him on the emergency channel.

He turned away quickly from the assembly of politicians, walking over to one of the office windows. He opened the channel with a rapid blink, his left hand automatically coming up to the side of his bucket, as if to touch a comlink that wasn't there, while the fingers of his right hand tightened on the butt of his blaster.

"Gaff, here. What…."

"Sir!" The voice belonged to Wess and the medic was panting slightly, as if he were running. "Code Red! I repeat, Code Red. The base has been infiltrated by GFH!"

"What!" Gaff shouted then quickly cut the outer audio feed of his bucket, so that only Wess would be able to hear him. "Sitrep," he demanded urgently.

"They overwhelmed a perimeter guard," Wess said breathlessly. "How is unknown, but they cut the base's power supply. We are running on emergency power. The intruders are armed, dangerous. No news on casualties so far."

_Armed! _Alarm raced through Gaff. How could the GFH be armed? F Company had been meticulous in their efforts to demilitarize Gaftikar. They'd searched all the houses, confiscated everything from an E-Web to handheld blasters and either shipped it off to Coruscant, destroyed it or locked it up in the base's weapons depot.

Then he remembered the report filed by Wren on Kezner's arrest. One of the men driving the speeder had been totting what looked to be a self-made blaster.

Manufacturing a blaster wasn't all that difficult, really. Particularly not in a mining town where most of the population had easy access to tibanna gas and some clever machinery.

He'd been so blind, not to think of that.

Closing his eyes, Gaff asked, "Troop strength?"

"Thirty confirmed, but estimated at maybe fifty."

Fifty. And all he had at the base were fifteen troopers.

There was shouting over the comlink, then a rapid succession of _pop!pop!pop! _noises. Gaff's head jerked up and the hand pressed to the side of his bucket clenched.

"Wess!" he called into the channel. "Wess, report!"

"They split their forces!" the medic shouted back. "They're heading for the weapons depot and the detention facility! Jakk is down! Sir, permission to use lethal force?"

Gaff froze, his breath catching in his lungs.

"Sir!" Wess kept shouting while in the background Gaff could hear more fire exchange. "Commander! Permission to use lethal force?"

* * *

_Republic Executive Building, Galactic City, Coruscant, Core Worlds, 21 BBY (26 days after the fist bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis) _

Bail walked briskly down the ornate and lavishly carpeted corridor, his grey ceremonial robes fluttering behind him. He smiled and nodded politely at the people he encountered, but did not stop to talk. He was in a tearing hurry actually and trying to hide the fact.

Halfway towards Chancellor Palpatine's office, he nearly bumped into Padmé. Reaching out one hand to steady her, her smiled down at her apologetically. "Padmé, I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."

She answered his smile with one of her own, though from the slight flush in her cheeks he could tell she'd been in just as much of a hurry to get here as he'd been.

"That's perfectly alright, Bail. No harm done." Then she slanted a wise look at him. "I guess you got the call as well?"

"Yes," he said and grimaced. "Accursed timing on Palpatine's part as well. I was just sorting through the last of the documents for Senator Braxis when my personal aide informed me that I was wanted in the Chancellor's office. Immediately."

"I got the same message," Padmé said, as she gathered her skirts in her hand, to making walking quickly easier. She was, as always, impeccably dressed in a dark-blue underdress with an overgown in a lighter shade of blue, which spilt in the middle. Adorning her head was another of her elegant headdresses. She was, to put it simply, the image of the ideal senator: elegant, with just a touch of tasteful ostentatiousness and regally composed even as she hurried down the corridor leading to Palpatine's office, Bail following close at her sensible heels.

"I was just on my way to leave for our meeting with Senator Braxis, when Teckla told me Palpatine wanted to see me in his office." Padmé turned her head to him, an eyebrow raised quizzically. "I don't suppose you know what this is about?"

"No," Bail said, feeling distinctly put out, though he kept his face pleasantly polite for anyone crossing their path. "All Ms. Retrac could tell me was that the message was flagged urgent." Then he drew a hand across his neatly trimmed goatee, feeling some of the tension that had been building since yesterday rise to the surface. "Stang," he cursed, so that not even Padmé could hear him. Then, in a more conversational tone he added, "At this rate, Senator Braxis will get to the conference room to find the two people who'd been pestering him for a meeting missing."

"Now, now, Bail," Padmé chided softly as they rounded the last bend. "It's not like the senator will be all alone. Mon Mothma, not to mention Meena Tills and uncle Ono will be there to lobby for Gaftikar's cause."

They were now at the large portal that opened up onto the outer offices of Palpatine's Chancellor suite.

Bail and Padmé paused for a moment to catch their breaths and ensure their appearances were suitably tidy and presentable.

"I'm aware of that, Padmé, and I have the utmost confidence in our fellow Loyalists. However," he paused, then sighed. "There's no denying that having Senator Braxis' support for tomorrow's debate would weigh heavily in our favor. He's the representative for the Kalamith sector and as close to an official voice in the Senate as Gaftikar has. If he spoke out against Shenio and martial law…" He trailed off.

"I know, Bail," Padmé said soberly, her face serenely composed. "But you also know that Palpatine wouldn't send for us on so short a notice if it weren't important. We have to trust in him and in our friends to do right by us."

She had such confidence that at times, Bail found himself envying her. There'd been a time when he'd felt the same, utterly confident in his allies and the righteousness of the Senate's cause. But since learning about the Sith, after what he saw on Alinta's station and on Zigoola…No, that wasn't quite true. His faith in certain aspects of the Senate and the bureaucracy of the Republic had been beginning to falter before that. Since the start of the Clone Wars, in fact, if not even earlier. It was so hard to tell sometimes. It was insidious; little setbacks and slights that just gnawed at you, pushed you in a certain direction without you ever realizing it.

The outer portal rolled to the side, startling him from his thoughts. Quickly, he smoothed out his goatee again, using the motion to cover up his momentary surprise.

On the other side of the portal was the Vice Chancellor, Mas Ameeda, calmly sitting at a large desk and sorting through datafiles.

At their approach, the Chagrian raised his head, gravely nodding as he recognized them.

"The Chancellor is awaiting you, Senators," he said politely, waving one hand to the red door at the far end of the outer office. "The others have already arrived."

_Others? _Bail thought, startled for a second time that day. But before he could ask for clarification, Ameeda had already pressed the button that allowed the door to Palpatine's inner office to gently swoosh open.

Sharing a single surprised glance with Padmé, the two senators stepped into Palpatine's inner sanctum.

The Chancellor, clad in his habitual red robe of office, was seated behind his desk, his long fingers laced together before him and his expression deeply concerned. Three of the chairs arranged before his desk were occupied, their backs turned towards the entrance, so that Bail couldn't see their occupants.

At their entrance, Palpatine raised his head towards them, a wan smile coming to his face.

"Ah, Senator Organa, Senator Amidala, it's so good of you to come. I do apologize for the hasty summons, but I fear there have been some dire developments."

"There is no need to apologize, Chancellor," Padmé hastily reassured the elder man. "Senator Organa and I are always willing and ready to serve the Republic in any means we can."

Bail added his ascent, but glanced curiously at the other three occupants of the room.

"It's good to hear that," Palpatine said with a relieved smile, then his expression turned grave once more. "And now that we're all here…" He nodded towards his three guests, who now turned to face the two senators.

Bail felt his eyes widen in surprise. There, in the far left chair, sat Senator Braxis! The Pho Ph'eahian's blue fur was, as always, meticulously clean and stood out starkly against Palpatine's red office walls. But the usually cheerful expression was missing from the senator's face and Bail noticed that two of his four hands were clenched tightly together.

The other two visitors were Grand Master Yoda and a Jedi Bail had never met before.

At the sight of the wizened face of Yoda, Bail felt the trepidation rise within him. The only time Yoda was ever called to Palpatine's office was when it concerned military matters of the highest priority.

_Dire developments, indeed, _Bail thought grimly. _If Yoda and Braxis are here, then that means something really, really went wrong in the Kalamith sector. _And Bail had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what planet of the sector was in trouble.

"You are, of course, already familiar with Master Yoda and Senator Braxis," Palpatine said with a kindly smile that hinted at irony over the fact that he knew _exactly _how familiar the four of them had become over the past two days. "But I don't believe either of you have yet met Master Yoda's companion." Palpatine nodded towards the unknown Jedi, who was now getting to his feet in greeting.

"Senator Organa, Senator Amidala, may I introduce to you Jedi Knight Garett Arhen."

_They get younger every day, _Bail mused ruefully as Knight Arhen bowed politely – though not too deeply – to the two Senators. He was a tall young man, perhaps twenty-three standard years, well muscled and sleek with startling teal eyes and platinum blond hair gathered into a Zabraki-style topknot.

Bail returned the Knight's greeting with a curt nod, noticing that Padmé briefly glanced at the young Jedi, as if in recognition.

"Arhen," she repeated the name thoughtfully, then her face cleared in startled realization. "Arhen. Is that not also the name of the Jedi investigator currently on Gaftikar?"

At this, Senator Braxis looked up from his unhappy study of his hands, his dark eyes gazing with interest from Naboo's senator, to the young Jedi Knight.

"I believe it is," Braxis said with some surprise, as if he'd only now drawn the connection. He gazed at Arhen with renewed interest, as if just now realizing the man was even in the room. Clearly the senator's thoughts had been on other matters. Bail did not envy him his responsibilities. While Alderaan and its senator were neck deep in the war effort, Bail's homeworld was at least far behind the front lines. Whereas the Kalamith sector was being torn asunder even now by the fighting and Bail felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that he had added considerably to the man's burdens since yesterday.

"Is there any relation?" Braxis asked politely, staring straight at Knight Arhen.

Bail suppressed a wince, as did Padmé, judging by the brief flickering of her eyes. Though the question was perfectly polite and civil coming from so family oriented a species as the Pho Ph'eahian, Bail thought that, as a senator, Braxis really should have known better. The subject of attachments and family was one best avoided when dealing with Jedi.

Bail glanced at Yoda, who had folded his hands over his gimer stick and was looking steadily at young Arhen, his face expressionless. Arhen's face briefly contorted - though Bail could not tell if it was in embarrassment or distaste - before it smoothed out into a bland mask of polite aloofness.

"My younger sister," Arhen admitted, his voice a cool baritone.

Bail looked at him, feeling just a tad surprised at the straightforward answer. Asking a Jedi about his family – _any_ family, for that matter – was like navigating a minefield. He'd asked Obi-Wan once about the man's family and the Order's policy on the matter and hadn't felt the need to repeat the experience. He liked his anatomy the way it was and would prefer to keep going through life without permanent frostbite covering his skin.

"I see," Braxis said slowly, his eyes flicking towards his two fellow senators, his normally jovial face betraying some of his embrassment as he realized the social gaffe he'd just committed.

Palpatine cleared his throat, breaking the momentary tension. "Now that we've all been introduced to one another…" he gestured at the two remaining seats between Master Yoda and Senator Braxis. With a rustle of cloth, Bail and Padmé seated themselves in the indicated chairs.

Arhen remained standing, waiting politely for the senators to seat themselves first, before once more sitting down on Yoda's right, at the far edge of the group.

"Gaftikar," Palpatine said, nodding towards Padmé, "is actually why I called this meeting." His fingers briefly tapped against one another and his face turned pensive. "About fifteen minutes ago, the GAR central command received a distress signal from an automated emergency beacon from the garrison stationed near Eyat. The message was very short. Apparently somewhere along the line, the main power was cut off from the base."

Bail's stomach clenched. _A distress signal from the garrison? _Oh, this was just sounding worse and worse by the second.

"It seems," Palpatine went on, apparently with the greatest of reluctance, "that a group of local insurgents has attacked the base, when most of the clone contingent was away on an, as yet, unspecified mission. We don't know much, except that they penetrated through the outer defense perimeter and have attacked several clone guards."

Senator Braxis took in a sharp breath, his blue fur bristling a little at the news. Bail and Padmé exchanged a brief, disheartened glance, while the two Jedi watched on, silent and expressionless.

The Supreme Chancellor sighed heavily. "I'm very sorry," he told them all, whereby his gaze rested the longest on Bail and Padmé. "I didn't want it to come to this. I'd hoped to let the democratic process work its will, but in light of these newest developments my duties are clear."

He raised his tired eyes to the five gathered before his desk, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "I cannot, in good faith, ignore such a direct attack on a Republic military base by a group who was, only two months before, allied with our enemies. With the evidence presented to me, I can only conclude that the civilian government has lost all control and to secure the safety of Gaftikar's citizens, I must declare the planet to be under martial law, effective immediately."


End file.
